


Come Together

by theobliviouswriter



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baker Simon Snow, Bisexual Simon Snow, Canon Related, Chaptered, Chubby Simon, Dad Simon Snow, Domestic Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Eventual Romance, F/M, Kid Fic, M/M, Mage Simon Snow, Mages, Mentioned Agatha Wellbelove, Mentioned Penelope Bunce, Oblivious Simon Snow, POV Simon Snow, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow Friendship, Penelope Bunce is a Good Friend, Pining Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Post-Watford (Simon Snow), Protective Simon Snow, Protective Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Rosie Salisbury - Freeform, SIMON IS CHUBBY COME ON NOW, Simon Snow Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Simon Snow Loves Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Simon Snow's Wings and Tail, Simon Snow's a dad, Single Father, Single Father Simon Snow, Slow Burn, Teacher Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Teacher x Parent, This will be a slow burn this time I promise, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, Vampire Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Violinist Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Watford (Simon Snow), dad bod simon, multi-chapter, parent simon snow, sex therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 126,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24410932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theobliviouswriter/pseuds/theobliviouswriter
Summary: After Agatha leaves Simon with their three-year-old daughter, he has to put both of their lives back together—it's hard. Simon does his best to make ends meet, but he has to choose: being more active in Rosie's life, or putting food on her plate. When Simon begins the process of forming his own bakery, Rosie's grades drop, and her temper flares, which lands her with a suspension for punching another student.Baz Pitch focuses on his studies before anything else. But after a life-changing experience with a classmate's child, he decides to dedicate himself to helping children—Normal children. He gets his doctorate and starts teaching gifted and talented students. A certain Rosie Salisbury is a promising student, and he is quick to understand her frustration but has had no correspondence with her parents. It comes as a shock when Simon Snow sits there with Rosie in his lap.Brushing old labels aside, Baz attempts to help his student through tutoring, but when discovering their circumstances, old feelings rouse. Both in his admiration for the bloke and the desire to help someone in need. Does Baz's savior complex bring them together, or does Simon think he has it under control?
Relationships: Lamb & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Simon Snow & Agatha Wellbelove, Simon Snow/Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 640
Kudos: 657





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would just like to say that I didn't develop this idea on my own. While role-playing, [Icarus](https://icarus-n-flames.tumblr.com) and I came up with this. It's not exactly the same, but I don't want to take full credit for the baseline of the plot because I'm not the only person who came up with it. In saying that, I hope you enjoy this "what if Simon ended up getting back together with Agatha before Christmas" fic! I swear to God it will be slow burn this time.

**Simon**

In the middle of a business meeting, I get a call from Rosie's school, telling me she’s been in a fight. There’s a first time for everything, but I never expected there to be a “first time” of my daughter physically injuring someone. 

Rosie’s not confrontational like that. She usually relies on wit and charm—a seven-year-old. But she’s smart and fast. She’s been turning phrases since she was two. A side effect of having Penelope Bunce as your auntie.

Even though I hate to admit it, I rarely have the time to go in and talk to administration—parents’ evenings? I’ve been to one, and that was when she was in preschool. I’ve always been too busy—food or a meeting. Penelope always went with her when she could. 

Today’s a lucky day, I guess. That I’m able to go in. (The meeting was almost over.) Not that she sucker-punched a kid. I’d be out of luck if it were any other day. Penny’s been out of town, so I wouldn’t have been able to come in.

But I sit in the front office like _I’m_ the one in primary school awaiting trial. I have to stop my legs from swinging, but I hunch over and fold my hands as I wait for the headmaster to invite the parents in. Right now, it’s just the children. 

The other parents and I are waiting, and I hope it won’t take much longer. What made my daughter want to punch someone in the first place? Rosie is a sweet kid, never really has behavioural problems. Or...she hadn’t. She never has. I do have to tell her to use her words...she tears up inwardly and if she were ever as powerful as me during my Watford days, I know she would’ve _gone off_ multiple times. But the outward reactions are new, and I’m sure it’s related to...well….

The other child’s parents are sizing me up. I know they think they have an economical advantage over me and they probably do; I live in a better-off neighbourhood. I bought the house with the leprechaun gold I had after I had dropped out of college. I wanted my children to have things I could never have. I didn’t raise her to be thuggish. She’s not...usually. We’d have to talk to her therapist about this. 

I don’t have any energy to send them a look of disgruntlement. After this, I have to go to work until two in the morning and start all over again the next day. It’s like that every day...the working part. Not the “my daughter punched one of her peers in the face” part. 

What will her therapist think of this? 

The door to the Headmaster’s office finally swings open and the two children are sitting across from each other. The boy looks guilty. Rosie’s still crying. The headmaster’s rubbing his forehead like he’s trying to iron the wrinkles from it. 

When Rosie sees me, she climbs out of the chair and runs to me. I take her in my arms immediately and hold her close. Every time I see Rosie, it’s like time stops. She’s my perfect little girl, and Crowley, she looks just like me. Bronze curls, a splat of freckles across her nose and cheeks. It almost hurts to look at her. It hurts to know that she’s there and I’m never doing enough. (I try. I do. But it’s never enough.)

Apparently, she also behaves just like me with the punching, now. But there’s no way she started this. She just...retaliated.

Punching a child in the face is something I would’ve done to kids who gave me a wrong look in foster homes, but Rosie never does things unprovoked. She’s smart. She gets away with words. But fists. 

Crowley. She’s becoming just like me. 

The other parents file in behind the child, that same judgemental look in their eyes as they glance me over one more time. I ignore it and focus my attention on Rosie. She’s still crying, and I kind of want to ask the little snot rag myself what he did to make my daughter inconsolable. I hold my tongue instead. I’m twenty-eight years old, not eight. 

The headmaster settles in his chair and looks at both parties. “The gifted and talented teacher witnessed what happened and he will join us in a minute, but I want to explain what I understand.” He pauses to look at Rosie. “Dear, will you please face us?” 

I have to nudge her to get her attention, and she settles with sitting in my lap nonetheless. I'm the only person she can find real comfort in, so I won’t move. I know she wants me where I am.

“I have two different stories, naturally,” the headmaster starts, and while he talks, Rosie plays with my fingers. They’re rough and calloused, and hers are soft and smooth against mine. She’s always done this. When she was really little, she would tell me it tickles. Now, she does it because it comforts her. 

“I’ll tell you what he said first,” the headmaster says and he looks at the boy. “No real explanation. He said she punched him.”

It takes everything in me to keep from interrogating this child. I know I’m making a face because while the headmaster gives me a sympathetic look, the parents give me a disgusted one. 

“What cock and bull story did the girl give?” the mother asks, and again, my patience begins to wear thin. I pull Rosie a little closer to my chest and narrow my eyes at the woman.

I don’t take well to grown adults gaslighting children. 

The headmaster sends me another sympathetic smile and says, “She’s been crying too much. She couldn’t give a real answer. That’s why we’ve asked our gifted and talented—”

“Sorry, sir. I meant to be here earlier but I was held up by the photocopier.”

I freeze the minute I hear his voice and I don’t have to glance at him in my peripheral to know who he is. 

But it couldn’t be. There’s no way...none. 

At a Normal school?

I have to look at the man to know. And I do...and I’m right. 

It’s been ten years since I’ve seen him. He’s changed, and he’s not. He doesn’t look a day over twenty, and his fashion sense has refined—a light floral shirt and salmon trousers, for Crowley’s sake. 

In a Normal school? 

I refuse to believe this. I’m hallucinating. I’m finally off my nut. 

“Thank you, Dr Grimm. Please sit.”

It’s him. How is...how is that Basilton Grimm-Pitch?

He’s still insufferably handsome, and he wears his long hair in a bun. And he allows himself to have a bit of stubble. Stubble. _Honestly_. 

Baz hasn’t looked at me yet, but when he does, I’m sure he’ll side with the boy out of spite. 

My blood boils at the thought of it. 

But he looks at Rosie before anyone else, and I’m gobsmacked to see the commiserating look he gives her. Like he’s on her team. And then he looks up, and his jaw goes slack. Just for a moment. But he doesn’t stare at me maliciously. Or with ill intent. Or in a way that shows that he wants to plot against the Salisbury-Snow family. 

He looks back at the headmaster. “I saw and heard everything.”

The mother looks at me with a contempt grin; I hold back a growl. 

Baz continues, saying, “The two were working on a project and he came up to her and started taunting her. He pulled on her ponytail and she told him to, excuse my language, ‘sod off’. I warned her not to use that type of language”—Baz can’t help but look at me and I roll my eyes—“and I thought the issue was over. But he began to mock her for not having a mum and she hit him.” 

I’m astounded by this, and I feel like I should be up and doing something. But you can’t wave your sword around and demand business to be taken care of...I’m still not strong enough _to_ summon the Sword of Mages (and I probably will never be again). But I want something to be done about him. The boy. 

And for them to think Rosie was a thug. I send his parents, who now look shocked, a vindictive glare. 

Even the headmaster looks surprised, and Rosie’s taken to burying her face back in my chest. She tries to avoid thinking about what the boy brought up, but it’s hard to do that when some punk kid reminds her. It’s been four years...but it takes time to heal those sorts of wounds. She has to go to a therapist for it every week, still. 

“Jacob, this has been your fifth time visiting the office, hasn’t it?” the headmaster asks, and I stop paying attention to them and focus on Baz. 

Leave it to him to find a way to weasel back into my life. After ten years. Is this a curse? I’ve already paid the price, why is he still punishing me for something that happened ten years ago? 

But he...he helped Rosie. He took her side. 

Even after he realized that she was my child, he helped her nonetheless. 

That is not the Baz I left at Watford. 

Maybe...maybe this is another Baz. Just as handsome but not the same. 

“Mr Snow?”

I snap out of my reverie and notice the other family is gone. The headmaster is looking at me, but I’m staring right at Baz. I look away and try not to think about it. Otherwise, I know I’ll blush. 

“Sorry, yes?”

“Even though Rosie was sticking up for herself, she will need to be reprimanded. We don’t tolerate violence. She will have to be suspended for a couple of days. However, Dr Grimm also thinks she could use some help with her classes. Her grades have been slipping and you didn’t show up to parents’ evening, so there needs to be a meeting between the two of you to figure out how best to help Rosie.”

Fuck. Her grades? I...why? I’ve been looking over…no. Actually, I haven’t. Not recently. It just...it slipped my mind. Fuck. 

Baz gives me a fake reassuring smile and I want to tear it off of his smug face. “We can speak about it further after this meeting—”

“I...I can’t.”

Both Baz and the headmaster look at me dubiously. Like I said something wrong. I check my watch and look back at the men. “I have work in thirty minutes. I can’t. As much as I want to.” And I want to. I need to be there for these reasons, but I _can’t_. First, her grades slip and now she’s punching kids?

This is my fault, damn it. 

“I will email you then, Mr Snow,” Baz says, and I hate how he says it. It doesn’t sound right. The Mister. That title. Especially from him. “We will need to figure out a free time to arrange tutoring or something of that nature.”

“I’m free on Wednesdays in the mornings. Any other weekday...I work pretty much all day.” 

I see something in Baz’s eyes that I don’t think I’ve ever seen before: sympathy. 

Baz nods at this. “I have a break at eleven. We can discuss it then.”

“Does her suspension start immediately, then?” I wrap an arm around Rosie and shift a little bit. She clings to me tighter. 

The headmaster nods his head. “Yes. Thursday and Friday. We will send you her work through email.” 

“All right,” I say, and I glance at my watch again. I need to go. Even though my boss is generally lenient towards my circumstances, I would prefer to have less ammunition to give him if he decides he wants to turn his back on me.

I stand, and again, I feel like I’m doing something wrong. The headmaster raises a brow. “I have work and it’s a bit of a drive,” I tell him, propping Rosie on my hip. She rests her head on my shoulder. 

“Thank you, Dr Grimm,” she says weakly, and he smiles at her like he understands. 

The git.


	2. Chapter 2

**Simon**

Agatha left when Rosie was three. I had a feeling it was going to come. Some gut feeling I had. It was after we had an argument about having another kid. We were planning for it, and then she just...didn’t want one. Don’t get me wrong. I was fine with just having Rosie. But we had failed attempts and I could tell that she stopped putting her heart into it. And when I asked her about it, she told me she didn’t want another kid. 

So why were we trying? Why did we already pull out Rosie’s baby clothes and put a crib together and begin to paint a room? Why did we go through all of this, just for her to tell me at the last minute that she didn’t want another kid? If she would’ve told me earlier, I would’ve understood. If she would’ve told me after Rosie, I would’ve agreed. Sure. But she didn’t. 

That hadn’t been the only giveaway, though. Towards the end, she would groan when I would ask her to magick my wings away. She didn’t look at me like...like that anymore. She stopped being as involved with Rosie. (Then again, I was always hands-on—I was the stay-at-home dad, she was a vet tech.) 

And then, she went to work one day and never came back. I didn’t even see her pack the bags, but she took everything. Everything but me and Rosie. 

She never talked about her feelings with me. Not in a transparent way at least. If I asked her how she was doing and I could tell she was upset, she said she was fine. Even when she was happy, she was fine. She was always just fine.

I knew it was coming. I knew she would leave me. But I didn’t know she would leave Rosie, too. 

At first, I thought she would’ve taken her, and I was ready for a custody battle. But she didn’t. Instead, I opened the mailbox one day to find divorce and custody papers between bills and stupid tabloids we never cancelled our subscriptions to. 

I’ve made peace with Agatha leaving me. I knew she would. But I still can’t forgive her for breaking Rosie’s heart. There aren’t instruction manuals on how to tell a three-year-old that Mummy isn’t coming back. That Mummy is _choosing_ not to come back. 

But I had to tell her. And when I did, I started sending her to therapy because I knew she would need it. 

It really fucks with your brain, especially after being orphaned. Well, not orphaned. Kind of. I found out about my roots when I was twenty-one. The Mage. Lucy Salisbury. Agatha actually helped me figure that one out. That’s why we decided to make Rosie a Salisbury rather than a Snow. I’ve considered changing mine as well, but changing every bit of government and official paperwork to match the name would have been inconvenient. And Agatha said that Simon Snow Salisbury had too many S’s. 

But it messes with you, knowing your daughter thinks she’s going to live out the same life you are. Being abandoned. She started sleeping in my bed to make sure I wouldn’t slip out without her, too. 

I can’t forgive Agatha for that, and I can’t forgive Agatha for not even wanting to see Rosie, even though I’m glad that she didn’t take her. Visits. Weekends with Rosie. Anything. But instead, Agatha said motherhood wasn’t for her and she wanted to clean her slate. 

I just can’t forgive her for that. 

So I took up both parental roles, and at first, I thought I could be a superstar parent. Take care of Rosie and have a job. At first, I thought I could’ve sent her to a preschool that taught her French and how to host a tea party while I worked in an office. But after each failed interview—confidence, stuttering, lack of a well-tailored suit—I wound up with a job that would work, but I rarely got to see her. Penny watched her. (I couldn’t afford daycare.) She taught her little spells and helped her learn the alphabet and how to read. If I didn’t have Penny, I don’t know where I would be, or where Rosie would be. I still send her thank you texts every day. 

Being a single father is hard, especially when you’re watching your children grow, but you’re not the one that is holding their hand along the way. I’m cheering from the sidelines, and Penny says I’m doing the best I can, but it’s so fucking hard. 

That’s why it’s hard to look in the mirror when she says, “Daddy?” on the drive to work. We stopped at the house to pick up her pyjamas and toothbrush, and if I don’t get there in five minutes, I’ll be late. 

I can’t look at her, but I reach back and put a reassuring hand on her knee. “Yes, princess?”

“Will I go to work with you tomorrow since I can’t go to school?” 

Suspension. I can’t be mad at her for walloping the kid, but I wished she used her words instead. (I used to hate the saying...but when you become a parent, you learn why they're important.) I still have to punish her, too. No tablet for those suspension days unless she needs it for classes. Everything is online these days. It’s a nightmare, especially since I can barely afford the wifi. 

“Yes, but you can’t be on the tablet. You’ll have to be doing your work. You know why you can’t go to school, right?” 

When I do steal a glance in the mirror, Rosie is pouting, and I’m not surprised. I’m also relieved she’s being more...herself. She’s an inward person, yes, but she rarely gets so upset she cries. 

“He was mean.”

“But you don’t hit people and I’ve taught you that. Use your words, remember?”

“I did! And he kept doing it!” She crosses her arms. 

Crowley, she’s so much like me. I have to keep myself from smiling just a bit because she’ll see it in the mirror. 

“I don’t want a next time, okay? This is the only time. The headmaster won’t be as nice if you do it again. I don’t want you to get expelled. Do you want to get expelled?” I look in the mirror again and she is sinking further into her car seat. 

“No,” she says. “Am I suspended from ballet, too?” 

She’s been doing ballet since before Agatha left and she loves it—I don’t have the heart to take it from her, so I still pay for classes. They’re every Saturday. 

I shake my head. “Only if you punch a ballerina, and I don’t want you to do that, either.”

“Okay.” 

I have to check in with a guard before I drive into the car park, and he always likes to greet Rosie, so I roll down the window for him to see her. 

“Wotcher, Simon.” He looks back at Rosie. “Heyo, Miss Rosie. How’ve ya been?”

“I punched a kid in the face.” 

Kids are honest, and Merlin, she is the most honest child I’ve ever faced. When she was younger, she used to lay her head on my stomach and she said it was as soft as a pillow. To her, it was a compliment. To me, that means I’ve gained weight. 

The guard looks at me, alarmed. I mouth, “Her mum.”

The guard nods and turns back to Rosie. “Are you going to be a good girl for now on?”

Rosie shrugs. 

He lets us through, and I carry Rosie all the way to the break room. 

The warehouse I work at is no place for a child, and I hate that I have to bring her. Like I said, I can’t afford daycare and Penny’s been out of town. I told her I had it under control when she asked if there was anyone who could watch her. And I do, technically. 

Rosie’s never _in_ the warehouse and she has her own little part of the break room. She does her homework there and when she’s done with that, she draws my colleagues. She loves to draw and dance. She has a creative soul. And if she chooses to go to Watford, I wouldn’t be surprised if she signs up for one or many liberal arts clubs. (Penny’s mum reinstated them. Makes life at Watford homier and less militant.) 

The men at work love Rosie, so that helps, too. Especially my boss. I think that might be why he likes me so much. Rosie draws a lot of pictures for him. I think he even frames them at home. And he uses them for employee of the month pictures instead of actual photographs. 

He’s the first person I see when I walk into the break room, and he smiles at Rosie. 

“What brings you here, Little Miss?”

“You know!” She scrambles down from my arms and hugs his legs. He pats her back and looks at me. 

I think he knows I have news because he says, “What's the bad news?”

“Rosie got suspended for punching one of her peers.” I rub the back of my neck. “So, she’ll need to be here all day tomorrow and Friday. Is that all right, sir?”

“Of course, but I want to know what made Little Miss slug another kid.” He sinks down to her level. 

“He made fun of me because I don’t have a mummy.” 

My boss grimaces. “I’d say that is a well-deserved punch”—he winks at me—“but I wouldn’t do that again.”

She throws her hands in the air and stomps to her pallet, saying, “I won’t!” 

While he stands back up, I ask, “Is it really okay that she stays here?”

“Rosie’s always welcome. But any news from your friend?” 

“Another month.” I cross my arms because I don’t know what else to do with them. “By then, I’ll have the deed to my bakery signed. I’m sorry. I would put her in a daycare, but—”

“Don’t worry, Snow. We’ve got your back.” 

When I’m not loading things from conveyor belts and into truck boots, I’m either eating or working on paperwork for the bakery. 

I don’t know what made me want to run a bakery, but...but I think it’s because it might free up time. I work day and night at the warehouse, practically. After I drop off Rosie at school, I come here, work, then leave to pick her up from school. Then, we come back again until two. There’s probably some law against that, but I’m reliable and I never burn out. And I desperately need the money. 

I think...I think if I open a bakery, I could do something I like while only having to be there from three in the morning to five in the evening at first. While I work alone. But if it grows, I can hire people. I can expand my business. I can spend more time with Rosie. 

There’s no chance of that if I stay right here. 

Rosie sits in my lap while I do this paperwork, doing her own homework. We’ve always done this. She’s always been right there, and I think it goes back to Agatha, again. She needs to constantly be with me because she wants to make sure I can’t leave her. 

It’s also helpful for me to keep my eyes on her work and correct it if I need to. (I need to keep track of her homework now, too.) When it reaches the time of year when Agatha left, her grades do dip a bit, and she usually works through it. But this time...this time, it sounds like she’s failing. 

“What’s two plus five?”

She wrote three.

She looks up at me, and she holds five fingers out. “Five, plus two.” She puts two down. 

“Princess, what does plus mean?” 

Rosie furrows her brows and tries to do the maths on her fingers again.

I set my pen down. “Plus means to add. So you have five”—I hold out a hand—“plus two.” I hold out the other and count each additional digit to show her. 

“Seven?” 

“Good girl. When you have a plus, you add. If you need any more help, let me know.” I kiss the top of her head and continue with my paperwork. I have to ask the boss for correction fluid when I realized I accidentally wrote the equation where I was supposed to sign my name. 

I go back and do my job after a thirty-minute break, and I load things until two in the morning. Rosie’s pyjamaed and asleep when I go back into the break room to clock out and I carry her and her things out to the car. I hate keeping her here so late, but do I have any other option? 

She never wakes up during the ride home, and I put her in her own bed while I get ready for the night. It doesn’t take me too long. A shower. I pull on pyjamas, and then I wait until she inevitably wanders into my room so she can cuddle. 

This certain night, I sit on the edge of the bed and look at my hands. They’re calloused over, but they get the job done. They put food in her mouth. I’ll be damned if she ever ends up as thin as I was after a summer at the Homes. 

Why did we ever end up this way? 

Why is this our life?

This was the life I was supposed to protect her from. I couldn’t even do that.

Rosie always shows up before I can sink too deep into these thoughts. She pads into my room and hugs me, and my problems go away, just for a moment. I hug her, and kiss her head, and tell her that she is beautiful because little girls need to hear that to build their confidence. And I mean it. 

She tells me I’m handsome and it always makes me laugh because I haven’t kept up with appearances for a long time. But she’s honest. 

The therapist says that she should sleep in her own bed at this point. Good for independence. I don’t make her because she needs to know I’m there, and I need to know she’s there, too. Make sure I’m not hallucinating and that she’s a figment of my imagination. She hasn’t been yet. 

It keeps us both sane. 

I can only fall asleep once I know she is—she has a slight snore, and her head always ends up right over my heart. I can go to sleep after that.

And then, the day starts over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! Thank you for the support so far! I'm glad you like it! It was an idea I wanted to do for a long time. I did have a question though. 
> 
> I can make POV's from both Agatha and Penelope work to move the plot, but would you be interested in them? It's an idea that I'm entertaining, but I don't think it's entirely necessary. In the end, it is my decision, but I do appreciate input. Thank you all and I'll try to have another update tomorrow!


	3. Chapter 3

**Simon**

Wednesday is the only weekday I can stand. I’m allowed to wake at a decent time because I don’t have to get ready for work first thing. I usually wake up early anyways —a habit I’ve had since my Watford days—so I can make something fresh for breakfast. 

Rosie sparked my love for baking. That, and sour cherry scones. (I’ve tried to recreate them several ways, but nothing will ever compare. I almost made something identical, but the nostalgia was missing.) I didn’t bake too much if at all after Agatha and I got married, but by the time Rosie could chew, she  _ loved _ bread and butter. 

My pride and joy, all right. 

I guess Agatha contributed a bit, too. Saying she didn’t want Rosie to have the preservatives in store-bought bread or something. I don’t know why, I turned out fine. (But then again, I have wings and a tail I have to magick away each day.) So, I decided to make some fresh bread. I bought the yeast, unbleached flour, used eggs from chickens I raised. I used to have the time to. 

Rosie adored the homemade bread and so did I. It was warm and fluffy, and butter melted on it beautifully. Rosie would get all messy with it and it would end up all over her face. Agatha hated it. I took pictures and framed them. 

I can’t make bread in an hour, though. We have some still, I’ve been testing recipes. But I like making her something warm. I’ll just send her to school with a slice of sourdough. It’s her favourite and tastes just as good cold. 

A strudel is something I can whip up just in time for her to eat it hot, and so I get to work. 

There’s something cathartic about kneading bread, even though I’m using the same hands that load boxes day after day. You would think I would be tired of using them, but utilizing different muscles is kind of therapeutic. When Rosie’s awake to watch me do it on the weekends, she likes to help. She’s good at it, too.

I have to help her with plaiting and crisscrossing the dough. She insists she can do it, but she gets frustrated when it doesn’t look right. I tell her practice makes perfect and she goes off to draw or practice a dance routine. 

She’s fast asleep on Wednesdays, though, and I make the strudel in silence. It used to bother me, having the house so quiet. It was almost too loud...but now, it calms me, knowing the world around me is still. Nothing is the matter when it’s silent. Just you, the strudel, and nothing else….

I wake Rosie up the same way I did when she was a newborn. It’s something that’s stuck, and though it’s cheesy, she always wakes up in a good mood. There are some things I don’t do anymore, but when she was a baby, I would rub her tummy and sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to her. 

Now, I sit down next to her and run my fingers through her curls. They’re loose enough but still bounce back into place. I don’t have a great singing voice, but she still likes it. So I sing to her until she opens her eyes and smiles sleepily. Her eyes are the only thing Agatha contributed to her. They’re round and brown—they look like pools of honey in the sun. But in the dark, they’re just as lovely. 

“Carry me,” Rosie says, holding her arms out for me. Who am I to say no?

I carry her into the kitchen, and we sit at the table across from each other. It’s the only time she won’t sit next to me because she considers breakfast a time to critique my baking. She looks at the strudel with her still sleep-crusted eyes and leans down to smell it. I let her take her time since we don’t have to rush to school like we do on others days. 

“It smells apple-y,” she reports to me, and I lean against my knuckles while I watch her pick it up and weigh it between two hands. I never taught her this, so I’m assuming she’s watched the Great British Bake Off or something at Penny’s.

When she finally takes a bite, she hums in delight, and I smile. Almost everything she does makes me smile, and she smiles back at me (with her mouth closed—Agatha insisted on table manners) until she looks over my shoulder. “Daddy, wings.” 

I’m so used to the things I don’t even notice that they’re visible half the time. I have to be careful in public, of course, but at home, I could be winged for hours on end until I notice it. I have enough magic to make them disappear again, but I try not to exhaust the little I have. 

Rosie likes watching me do it. Not a super strong spell in England, but it does the trick and keeps them away for hours at a time, so I do the spells Penny taught me and they’re gone again. Rosie claps. (She always does.)

“When will I get to do magic?” She’s eating and is able to hold a conversation while doing so, so I talk to her. Some little kids can’t do both, but she talks just as much as she eats. 

“Well, we will need to find your conductor. I have a wand. Aunt Penny has a ring. I think Granny Salisbury might have left me something that will work for you, but we can't look this morning. Maybe before ballet next weekend?” 

Rosie’s eyes light up. She’s not obsessed with magic, but she likes to know about it. I don’t doubt that she’ll want to go to Watford. I know she’ll love it there. 

She’ll definitely like the uniforms a lot more. Rosie has to wear a royal blue jumper and a grey tartan skirt to her primary school, and she hates it. She asked if I knew how to turn the jumper pink, and I told her that it doesn’t work like that. She spent the rest of the day trying to turn it pink by attempting to manifest the colour. I told her at the end of the day that it  _ did _ look a bit more purple. 

After getting dressed, she expects me to put up her hair, and I plait it. I learned how to do it after finding out we were having a girl. I practised it on anyone who would let me, so I’m pretty proud when I’m finished with it. She has to rush to the mirror to see it herself, and she runs back, bounding into my arms. 

I pick her up. “Look like a princess?”

“Yup!”

“Ready for school?”

“Yup!”

I grab her bag and we’re ready to go. 

  
  


I don’t know how I ever missed the fact that Baz was one of her teachers. They don’t give us a picture of every single teacher that works with our kids or anything, but I guess I would’ve thought I would pick up on Grimm. 

Then again, it’s a more common surname than Pitch by a longshot. Did he not want to be found? His family probably sees him as a traitor. I wouldn’t want to be found, either. 

But I don’t get it. I don’t know how I didn’t pick up on it. Rosie tells me about him all of the time. He’s her favorite, probably because he treats her a little more seriously. More is expected in a gifted and talented class, and though it’s recognised that she  _ is _ a child, she is smart. Above average. She thinks outside of the box. 

It’s just hard for me to imagine Baz ever thinking outside of the box with the way his family is so exclusive. 

But Rosie goes on small rants about him. How he brought his violin—a dead-ringer,  _ honestly _ —for show-and-tell. (She tried to bring my wand.) She tries to give him part of her snacks. And I can tell he is a good teacher to her because she usually comes home with small stickers in her planner. (That, I do check on a regular basis no matter what.) He leaves little notes,  _ Baz written _ notes that she leads the class most days and interacts well with other kids. Or  _ did _ . 

We would talk about following steps towards her success today. 

But how did I not recognise his handwriting? Merlin and Morgana. 

There’s time to burn between the meeting and dropping Rosie off, so while I wait, I drive to the property I chose for the bakery. It’s just a bit out of town, but not too far. The building’s cute and standalone. Very cottage-feely. I wanted a building that would invite people in, and I certainly think it would. I was drawn to it instantly. It’s brown-bricked with large bay windows on either side. I already have a plan of how I want it to be set up. Rosie drew it, and it’s a good looking floor plan if I’m being completely honest. 

I don’t have the keys yet. I have the money, but I haven’t talked everything else out with the bank yet. We’re in the works of doing so, but everything will be settled before Christmas, which is perfect. People love pastries around Christmas time. 

I spend a couple of hours working on paperwork in front of the building, just because I don’t want a confused school guard to ask me why I’ve been in a school car park for so long. It’s not that weird, really, but I don’t want to talk to someone if I don’t have to. Even when I arrive at Rosie's school twenty minutes early, I get out of an awkward conversation with the secretary by saying I need to use the loo. (I just don’t want to talk to her. She’s eyeing me like I’m some sort of dessert.)

Instead of doing what I said I needed to, I wander around the corridors. I have a little nametag so people know I’m supposed to be there if anyone asks, but no one does while I half-heartedly look for Rosie’s class. I can just wait outside the room until the kids file out. It takes me a few minutes to find it, but once I do, I can’t help myself from peering through the crack between the door and its frame. 

Baz is directly in my field of vision.

Though Baz still looks young, he’s matured. Broader in every sense of the world, but not nearly as broad as me. Muscular. Crowley, muscular. He moves his arm to grab a sticker pack and I can see his muscles flex under the fabric of his shirt from here. The stubble he has reminds me that I am still unable to grow a decent looking beard, and he wears glasses like I do. Probably for appearances. I never asked, but I’m pretty sure vampires don’t need glasses. 

Now that I’m thinking about it...is it a good idea for a vampire to be around a bunch of blood bags?

Rosie walks up to him and she’s covered in glitter. I inwardly groan because I know I’ll have to clean her up later—and I still refuse to point my wand at anyone, especially my daughter. 

Baz has the same, “Oh, Merlin,” look I’m sure I’m sporting, but he smiles anyway. It’s weird seeing him smile. 

She holds something out for him and he takes it. I can barely hear him, but he says, “Can you explain to me how this symbolizes community? Do you remember what a symbol is?”

Rosie nods fervently and looks at the trinket in his hands. I can’t tell what it is from here. 

While she speaks, I continue to look at Baz, and I feel like I’m looking at a different person. I’ve never seen his eyes so soft...so kind. He’s turned off those glaring looks before...before I betrayed him, but never this. I’ve always chalked up his stares as an attempt to wordlessly curse me. 

This is softer. There’s love there. 

I didn’t know he was capable of that. 

They high-five after a moment and he stands from the desk, steering Rosie towards the center of the room with a gentle hand on her shoulder. He tells her she can grab a book from the reading corner, then as if he cast a **_Your Attention, Please_** on the class, they turn to him.

Maybe he did. Some mages can cast wandless, wordless spells. He’s powerful, I’m sure he can. 

He uses a voice that I haven’t heard before, and again, I question whether this man  _ is _ Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your five-minute warning. If you haven’t already wrapped up your project for the day, do so now. And if you have, please put them away. You have  _ one _ more class day to finish. Do you understand?”

The children say in unison, “Yes, Dr Grimm!” 

In the frenzy of children putting things away, Baz kneels to tie his shoe but pulls his wand from his sock. He points it at Rosie, and the glitter coating her disappears. I want to thank him, but I also want to throttle him for using nonconsensual magic on a seven-year-old. (That’s the eighteen-year-old me, at least; Baz seemed to rouse that monster by coming back into my life.) 

I stand away from the door while the kids leave. None of them notice me, all except Rosie who is caboosing the line. She jumps into my arms and I kiss her on the head and set her back on the ground. “You need to go to your next class. I love you.” 

She tugs on the hem of my shirt so she can kiss my cheek. I concede, then she takes off after her homeroom teacher leading the line. 

“You’re welcome for de-glittering her.” Baz is standing behind me. I can almost feel his breath on the back of my neck. He knows I’ve been watching.

“Do you do that to all of your messy pupils?” I turn around, and I take a moment. 

It’s been ten years since we stood across from each other, alone. I never thought I would be in this position again. 

How did we end up here? 

Baz shrugs. “Only if it’s a dire circumstance. Wouldn’t you say glitter is?”

He’s right, and I hate it. I think he can tell that I hate it because his lip curls. 

Then, he floats into the room.  _ Floats _ . He’s in his element, telling me how bad I am at everything. I’m sure this is what this meeting is. To berate me. 

He turns when he sees I’m not following and rolls his eyes. “Stop gawking and come in. We have important matters to discuss.” 

I don’t like listening to him, but I do so anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you so much again for your kudos and comments! They brighten my day and I always love when I can have a conversation with my readers!
> 
> This was going to be a Baz chapter, but after deciding I would prefer to de-layer his past, I changed my mind. 
> 
> If you want to follow my other platforms, you can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/forcrowleyssake), [Tumblr](https://forcrowleyssake.tumblr.com), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/forcrowleyssake/)!
> 
> I'm planning on making character designs and home designs (on the Sims 4, lmao) and I'll be posting those as well! 
> 
> Question of the chapter: Why do you think the fic is called "Come Together"? 
> 
> I'm just curious what y'all make of it.
> 
> Have a great rest of your day!


	4. Chapter 4

**Baz**

When I initially met Rosie Salisbury, I knew she was a force to be reckoned with. From the very start, she was larger than life. Loud, energetic, _smart_. Very smart. She blew me away in no time, and I found myself bonding with her. She always seemed so happy, but as I got to know her, I realised most of it was a front. 

Though it’s not my speciality, I did take children’s psychology classes. I’d wager that she’s depressed.

When she needs to talk to someone, she comes into my room and tells me how she misses her mum and how her dad works more than he spends time with her. She gets unreasonably irritable sometimes, and I let her sit in my class until she calms down. According to her other teachers, she has a hard time concentrating. Those are textbook definitions of childhood depression, and when I made this revelation, I began to reach out to her father. 

I knew Simon Snow was her father since she was enrolled in my class, and I tried to contact him multiple times in the past two months. I never got an email back, and so I began to make my assumptions. 

Based on Simon Snow’s track record, I assumed that he betrayed his child. This is not a personal situation. Not to me at least, but he has a history of abandoning people when they need him most. Simply an observation. 

Before last week, I even began putting together evidence of child neglect to present to the DfE. Not abuse, Snow has never intentionally hurt a person, but she came to me and expressed her grievances like no one else listened to her. She shared that she was sad a lot, but she didn’t like to speak about it.   
  


And I thought after being orphaned, Snow would know not to put a child in the world unless you were ready for one. 

But when I saw him for the first time in ten years, I understood some of my assumptions were biased. 

Rosie looked incredibly comfortable with him, and he held her like he was protecting the universe. 

Even though I now know that he cares about her, he is doing things wrong. A lot of things. It’s like he doesn’t want her to succeed, and so I think I need to (regretfully) help him with Rosie. 

Not that I regret helping Rosie. I regret helping Snow, but I _am_ the bigger person. 

During the latter half of my lesson, I noticed Snow peaking into the classroom, and I chose to ignore him. He gawked at me like a zoo animal, and I know that we haven’t seen each other in years, but I find it annoying that he’s acting like I’ve been missing. (Like the last time I went missing.) I knew he wanted a show, _something_ , so I magicked away the horrendous amount of glitter Rosie coated herself in. 

And of course, Snow’s vexed by it. It’s the first thing he interrogates me about.

I find it ironic. 

I have to remain cool and collected, though. I won’t let him know that I am outraged by Rosie’s treatment, not in the same way he displays anger. Even though fire’s my speciality, I run cool. He runs explosive. 

I know he’ll start yelling by the time I finish presenting my concerns, so I’m trying to find a way to tell him that he needs to step up his parenting without making him go off. 

Go off, not _go off_. 

Both of us sit on some therapeutic yoga ball chairs I have for the children and I fold my hands. He looks suspicious, and I’m sure he thinks I’m plotting for his downfall as a parent. He always thinks I’m plotting. 

**Simon**

Baz doesn’t look amused. Not one bit. I’m sure he already has one hundred and one assumptions about me in his head, but if there is one thing I am going to do, I am going to defend myself as a father. 

Even though the voice in the back of my head tells me that whatever he says will probably be right. 

There’s tension between us nonetheless. I can’t tell if he’s waiting for me to make the first move or if he’s coming up with something to say. Maybe both. I wouldn’t be surprised if he memorised a list of comebacks to spew at me. 

“So, Rosie,” I say. I don’t know what else he wants me to say, but he’s looking at me like I’ve said the most moronic thing in the world. 

“Yes, Rosie. She’s the reason we’re here. Keep up, Snow.” He sits up straighter and uses his height as an advantage. I think he’s trying to intimidate me, so I sit up straight as well. I have a longer torso than he does, and for a moment, I can tell he’s shocked that I top him off. 

Is this where we’re at? This is juvenile, but he brings out the worst in me. 

Staring at each other will not figure out what we can do to help her. “So, what’s your proposition?”

“I have a basic layout of what I want to do to help her, but we need to compare notes and I want to express my concerns with her home life.” 

“Do you think I’m abusing her or something?” A knot forms in my throat and my fists clench at my sides. I would never, could never...and if Baz thinks...if he thinks that I could _ever_ hurt her. “What makes you think that, Baz? I...fuck. No. I could never.” 

Baz doesn’t say anything at first. He looks at me like he’s trying to put me together like a puzzle, and then he stands. Maybe he thinks I can still _go off_ because he paces backwards the first few steps. And then he reaches his desk and pulls something out of his drawer. A file. 

He hands it over to me and sits back down. I take it from him and see her name scrawled across the tab. 

“What’s this?"

“Why don’t you look for yourself?”

And I do. 

It’s filled with articles on child depression, handwritten notes, and emails. I look through the pieces of paper one by one and begin to put the pieces together. This is a case file. He’s making this because he thinks I don’t care about Rosie. He wants to report this to authorities. My stomach plummets to the floor. I think I’m going to throw up. 

“No,” I say, shaking my head over and over. It’s like it’s involuntary because I can’t stop. “No, I don’t neglect her, Baz. I don’t...Baz. No, I can’t lose her.” I shove it back at him. My head’s on a swivel. It keeps shaking “no”. 

“Snow, I am showing you what I am seeing at school. I know Rosie’s missing a mum, I know what that’s like, but—”

He stops and I realise I’m standing. I keep shaking my head. I can feel myself imploding. Several bombs are dropping and starting proxy wars in my brain. 

I. Can. Not. Lose. Rosie. 

“You know what losing a mother is like, Basilton, but you will never know what it is like to live in poverty. Your father had money after she died. I had _nothing_ when Agatha left. You knew your mum was gone and wouldn’t come back. Sometimes, Rosie thinks she might return. I work until two in the bleeding morning almost every. Single. Day so I can feed her!” I’m shaking. I can’t stop shaking and I don’t know if I’m crying or not. I can’t see Baz, though. “Ballet is her favourite thing to do, so I still pay for her to go on Saturdays. She still goes to therapy, even four years later. I have to take her to work because Penny is in America and I can’t afford daycare. I wake up at the ass crack of dawn and make her fresh food because that’s one way I can show her I care. I don’t have the time to do it in grand ways like taking her to see movies or buying her expensive Christmas gifts. And I would do anything, _anything_ to make her happy. I’m _trying_ Baz! I’m trying to make sure that I can take care of her, and I’m still failing.” 

Maybe he’s right. 

“Simon—”

“So you should send in those papers.” I only know I’m crying because I can taste the salt on my lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t get your emails. I’m sorry that I can’t make her happy. Send in those papers, Baz. Get your fucking revenge. Take my sole drive in life away from me. I deserve it. I couldn’t protect her.”

Baz is in my general vicinity. I can feel him hovering around me. I can’t see him. Everything around me is blurred with tears. 

“Do it if you think it would be good for her, but please know that she has to sleep in my bed because she is scared that I’ll leave her if she doesn’t.” My hands blindly find his shoulders, and I try to make eye contact through the tears. I can’t tell if I am. “Please know that she’s attached to my hip because she loves me, and I would do anything for her...so if you think that it would be better for her to be in a care home, do it. But know that I was traumatized—”

“Snow, please. Fuck, _look_ at me. Take a few breaths, calm down, and look at me.” Baz has a grip on my elbows and I’m shaking, _vibrating_ . This is my new way of _going off_. 

“I can’t lose her.”

“I know...I know you can’t. Calm down.”

He has to help me sit down because my eyes refuse to dry. He sits me in a real chair this time, not one of those enlarged bouncy balls. And he waits for me to calm down. He waits until my eyes are ringed with red, but are no longer filled with tears. 

“Do you need some water?” He asks, and that cool tone he had disappeared. He looks lost. 

“No,” I rasp, and he rolls his eyes. 

“I’m getting you water.”

He leaves and comes back with a bottle of water. I almost drink the entire thing in one gulp. 

“You’re not the Chosen One anymore, Snow. How did you...why don’t you reach out for help?”

“Penny helps me, but she’s been in America since the beginning of the school year.” I hiccough and scratch my cheek. They itch from the tears. “I can’t lose Rosie.”

Baz gives me a glance over and nods like he’s made a decision. “You won’t, but you _need_ to get help.” 

“I can’t afford it, Baz. I—”

“If you stopped talking for one moment, I can tell you what I mean.” 

So I stop talking. He doesn’t verbally thank me, but his eyes say it. 

“First off, I can tutor her. I know the subjects she’s having trouble with, so I can work on that with her. Alongside that, the school has aftercare until about five in the afternoon. I run it with a few other teachers. I know that doesn’t cover your entire shift, but…” Baz takes a deep breath and exhales. “I can babysit her until Bunce comes back.”

I look at Baz like he’s sprouted off five heads. “What?”

“She’s an amazing kid, and I want to see her excel.” Baz diverts his gaze. “And...you clearly care about her. I don’t want to take her away from you.” 

I’m shaking again. I’m not crying, but I’m shaking. “Are you serious or are you being a bastard?”

“Snow, I wouldn’t say I would help if I didn’t mean it. Do you need me to babysit her tonight? When do you need me to start?”

He’s being earnest. He almost sounds desperate—why?

“I would need to write you a list of expectations first.” 

Baz shrugs. “All right, then. Do it. Now.” 

“And you’ll need a house key—I don’t want her to go over to yours.” 

“Where do you work?”

I raise a brow. “A warehouse?”  
  


He deadpans. “You know that’s not safe.”

“Do I have any other option right now?”

“Give me the damn list of expectations. Let me help you help her.”

Even though I hate it when Baz is right, I can’t help but be thankful when he slides a piece of paper and pen in front of me. 

“Go ahead. I’m trying to help you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted it early because I was really excited about this chapter. I actually cried while writing it, LOL. 
> 
> Also, I would like to take the time to thank my betas for reading this and validating my choices. (And assuring me that I can write Baz--writing him makes me anxious.) 
> 
> Question of the chapter: Do you think Baz is justified for making such strong assumptions? 
> 
> Thank you again for reading and I'm sorry if I'm flooding you with chapters! I write fast.


	5. Chapter 5

**Baz**

After school, Rosie comes to my room, confused. I had sent for her. She looks around like she’s looking for Snow. Instead, she finds me sitting at my desk, waiting for her. 

Technically speaking, I am not allowed to do this. There are school policies that prohibit teachers from being too near children outside of school hours and activities to prevent lawsuits and any other disgusting behaviour, but Snow allowed this. I think it would be fair enough to argue if anyone really questioned it, but I don’t think anyone will. 

Not to brag, but I am one of the most respected staff members at this school. I’m good at what I do and my student success rates are high. (I also student-taught here before I got the position.) 

I stand from my desk and pace over to her. She has her backpack dangling from one shoulder and her jumper hanging from her other arm; the closer I get to her, the more concerned she looks. Her eyes get rounder by the second. 

“Where’s my daddy?” she asks, and she sounds somewhat panicked. Snow mentioned that it might be an issue, but if I talk it out with her, she’ll understand. 

So, I kneel in front of her. So that I am not overwhelmingly taller. It can be intimidating. (I save that power for one Simon Snow.) “Do you remember that he came in today?”

She nods, allowing the backpack to fall onto the ground behind her. It lands with a small thud and she hugs the jumper closer. “Is he going to get me?”

“Your father told me how Bu—your Aunt Penny used to take care of you while he worked, and he decided that it would be a better idea for you to stay away from his job. It can be dangerous there. So, I will come to your house and take care of you until he gets home for a little bit. Are you all right with that?” 

The uncertainty transforms into unfeigned excitement. She bounces on the balls of her feet, then spins. I chuckle. It’s good to see her genuinely smile. 

“I get to show you everything in my house! I think you’ll like it, Dr Grimm!” She takes hold of my fingers and tries to pull me to the door. I stumble a bit—she’s strong and I wasn’t ready to be dragged across the reading mat. 

“Hold your horses, now,” I say, standing. “We can’t go right away.”

“We can’t?” She turns back to me and pouts her bottom lip. I bet she uses that tactic on Snow because it almost gets me.

“I have a couple of more things to tell you. And you’ll forget your backpack.” I nod towards where she dropped it. 

She grabs it and sits down on one of the yoga ball chairs. And then, she begins to bounce. (I don’t let her sit on those in class for that exact reason.) 

I sit across from her. “I will also help you with your homework. We can either do it together, one by one, or you can do it and I go over it with you after. By the end of your tutoring sessions, I want to be able to do the second option only. Understand?”

“Yupperuni.” She’s still bouncing. 

“Yupperuni?” I know I’m not necessarily her teacher outside of school, but I want to instil that same respect. 

I think she can tell because she corrects herself. “Yes, sir.”

Better.

“And before we can go home, we will need to stay with the students in the After School Care Programme. If you finish your homework then, you can have more time to show me around the house.” 

By the way Snow described his living conditions, I’m expecting a two-roomed apartment that smells like cigarette smoke that clung to everything from the past owner. But I would have probably smelled it on Rosie if that were true—vampire nose. 

“Okay!” She bounces up from the chair, pulls her backpack on in one fluid motion, and skips to the door. 

The energy in this child. I know she gets this way, but Crowley. 

  
  


Snow gave me a very simple list about Rosie. I asked him if that was all when he finished writing it, but he groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. He tugged at the roots hard enough that I was surprised he didn’t pull his hair out. He said he needed more time to think, and I asked if there were any other free days that he had, even if it was on the weekend. 

We could talk during her ballet lessons. 

For now, I only had to know a few things. 

  1. She doesn’t have a strict bedtime but usually falls asleep around nine.
  2. I need to put her in her own bed when she does fall asleep.
  3. She’s allergic to shellfish.



Surely, _surely_ he knows more about her..there are more important things about her. But then again, he had just gone through a small panic attack in front of me and was probably too frazzled to write every last thing. (After _that_ , it would be wise to give Snow the benefit of the doubt.) 

He also gave me the key to his house and asked me to make a copy of it. I could leave his under the doormat and keep the copy until I stopped babysitting her. 

We made a pit stop to make a copy before we reached the address Simon scribbled at the bottom of his list, and I’m surprised. The house is _lovely_. Cottagey, and he has flower beds around the front of the house. Barren. I suppose Agatha planted flowers, but it wouldn’t take much to revive a pleasant-looking garden.

It’s one storey, thatch-roofed, and has small-paned windows, much like those on the Cloisters at Watford. A gravel path reaches to the front door, and the porch light is already on. He must’ve forgotten to turn it off. 

The little monstrosity that is Simon Snow’s child tears my car door open and slams it behind her. (My poor car.) (I’m sure she’s just excited, but if it becomes a pattern, I’ll need to talk to her about it.) 

I get out as well, follow her, then realise... _what am I doing?_

Of course, I know what I am doing. Simon Snow desperately needs support and I’m extending a hand to a parent who needs help. At its root, it is that simple. 

I’ve babysat before. I babysat on nights I had a final the next day. I babysat on my birthday. I know how to take care of a child and to discipline them and how to keep them entertained. 

But Rosie is not _just_ a child. She is my ex-nemesis’ child. 

_What am I doing?_

It’s one thing to be her teacher for fifty minutes a day. I’m teaching her class about communities. It’s our theme for the year. But...but how do I go from being a teacher to a babysitter? 

Do I loosen my tie? Kick my feet up on the coffee table after taking my shoes off? _Should_ I take my shoes off? 

I guess we can figure this out on Saturday. For now, I’ll do what I think is most appropriate. 

Rosie’s waiting for me to open the door, scratching at where it opens. For easier access? I haven’t any idea. None of my siblings ever did it, but then again, they never had to wait for me to open the door. 

She flies in once I do, kicking off her shoes, socks, tossing her backpack and jumper by the door. 

I pick it up so it won’t wrinkle. 

A door—her bedroom door, I assume—slams shut and I wince. 

She’s just like her father. 

I do a couple of things before I take a look around. I place his key under the doormat and hang Rosie’s jumper on a coat hanger. Then I place her shoes neatly by the door. And pick up her socks….

But I don’t get carried away. I easily could have, but I want to get a look around before Rosie walks back out and rants about her house. Her excitement heartens me, but she’s a little spitfire at the moment. She’ll fall asleep talking tonight. 

The first thing I notice about the house is that it’s very...brown. And beige. Warm. I could almost fall asleep by looking around but in a comforting way. 

He’s scant on decorations, and anything he owns is out of style. I notice a vase of dead flowers by a picture...a framed picture sitting on a dresser. I get closer and notice a woman that looks much like him—Snow. Had he found his mother? I pick up the frame and notice Bunce’s mum there as well on one side and a male on the other. There’s a sticker over his face. If I didn’t care, I would have tried to scratch away at the sticker. They’re sitting on the Watford pitch, and they seemed at ease. 

Are the flowers a memorial? 

I make sure Rosie isn’t making her way back out and towards me. I pull out my wand and liven them up. If she asks, I’ll tell her that her father must’ve bought some earlier. 

Pictures litter the living area. All of Rosie, and most when she’s incredibly young. Taking her first steps, covered in butter— _just_ like her father—birthday photos. Those seem to be the most updated and appear chronologically. 

“Dr Grimm!” Rosie says, and I turn around as she runs up to me. I feel the need to crouch again, she’s so little. “Now, I must show you the house!” 

“All right, then. I would love for you to give me a tour.” I raise my brows at her and she grins. 

Rosie pulls me around by three fingers and takes me into every room. She has to show me Snow’s (messy) bedroom and bathroom—a very nicely architectured shower, I must say—and honestly, it’s a bit depressing. Grey. Dark. His overhead light is burnt out and Rosie lets me know that he never turns on the lamp on the side of his bed. She’s never seen his room with the lights on. 

Her room is an explosion of pink. I can hear Bunce’s voice drone in the back of my head. Before everything imploded between our truce, she was very vocal about crushing gender norms. Agatha must’ve fought for this pink. But Rosie’s head to toe in pink as well. I notice it now. She’s in a leotard and tutu and has a little plastic crown on top of her head. If Simon gave me the okay with magic, I would put stardust in her hair to tie it together. My sisters loved when I did it to them. 

Alongside the pink of her room, there are pictures hanging _everywhere_. Hand drawn with what looks like crayon (I want to get her some good coloured pencils and paper. I think she would appreciate it.) The drawings almost cover the pink on the walls. 

Other than the pictures. I see nothing else. No toys, no books. A small bag in the corner across from her bed, and I see ballet slippers poking out from it. 

She pulls me to the kitchen, but I notice there’s another room we didn’t go into. 

For a child who is adamant in showing every square inch of the house, she seems to completely disregard it.

“What’s in that room?” I ask her; I let the curiosity get the best of me. 

“Oh.” She drops my hand and turns back at me. She has a grave look in her eye. “I’m not allowed in there. Daddy’s it locked.”

And then, she walks away like it’s nothing. 

Rosie talks faster than she can speak when she’s kinetic. She misses out on certain words, and though I can understand what she means, it astounds me that she speaks like she does. Snow could barely get a word out when speaking a single sentence in his youth. She tries to fit in as many words as she can in a single breath. 

She tells me things about her. I know she’s artistic, her projects and room display this much, but she talks about art like it’s a religion. She can draw whatever she wants. It makes her feel better. It’s what she does most at home, and she likes to draw everyone she sees. 

I learn that her father is going to open a bakery—Snow? A baker? He’s only coordinated with his hands when it comes to sword fighting, but the softness and rounding out of his physique is testament to her statement. 

(So are his pastries; I always refused to take what she offers me at school, but he makes an amazing strudel.) 

She goes to therapy every week on Saturdays a couple of hours after ballet lessons. She likes her therapist, but he tells her to do things she doesn’t like to do, like to sleep in her own bed.

At some point, she even puts on a performance of what she’s done thus far in ballet. She has me turn the music on on my phone—look at her, ordering me, her teacher, what to do—and she plies and sashays in front of the coffee table. 

She falls asleep on the sofa next to me at around nine. She sleeps just like her father. In a knot. Except her hair doesn’t mat up. They stay in little ringlets. Maybe Agatha’s hair _was_ naturally perfect, and she got that from her. 

I carry her to her room and place her in her bed. I tuck her in and she hugs a stuffed bunny I tucked in with her. After I’m sure she’s asleep, I walk out. 

Melancholia washes over me when I step out of the room. 

When you’re in love with Simon Snow, you can’t see anything beyond him. He is in front of you, on each side, behind. He overwhelms you with that smoke-turned-popcorn-butter smell and there’s nothing you can do about it. Even now, after ten years has passed, he finds his way back. And it’s like he’s never left. 

Tawny skin, bronze hair. He’s softer now, the butter’s caught up. But he’s real, and I am babysitting his daughter. 

I didn’t do this because I love him. I don’t think I can ever love him again after leaving me like he did. But I can’t help it. I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if he didn’t drop me for his ex-wife. 

I had dreams of flames and kisses, forests and cross necklaces abandoned. 

Where would we be now?

I very much doubt Simon is gay. He may have been obsessed with me, but in a way that never meant the same. 

But I used to flirt with the idea. If I were ever able to make Simon Snow mine, would we have children? Would we have been happy? Or would it have gone down in flames?

Would this house be mine? I sit on the couch and give it another once-over. I do prefer lavish things, but I could settle for this. I feel comfortable here. 

But these—all of these thoughts—are fantasies. They’re not real. 

Isn’t it cruelly ironic how I ended up babysitting his child?

**Simon**

When I get home, I find Baz asleep on the sofa. He almost scares me shitless, even though I knew he was over. I just didn’t expect to see him...there. So vulnerably open like that. 

He fell asleep with his workload spread out across the coffee table, and he has something on his chest. I get closer to read it—E-Z Grader. 

I don’t want to wake him up. I’m sure he’s exhausted, and if...if he’s going to help me, I want to help him, too. 

I grab a few blankets from the linen closet and place one over him. He stirs when I do, and he opens one bloodshot eye at a time. 

Did he go out to feed? 

“I need to get home,” he mumbles drowsily. I place my hand on his shoulder when he tries to sit up.

“You probably shouldn’t. It’s really late. You can sleep on the couch.” 

“I need to...I need to—”

“Get a drink?”

He’s awake enough to glare at me. 

“Go and nab something, then come back.” 

Baz pushes the blankets off and collects his things regardless. But I do catch him thanking me under his breath. He leaves a couple of minutes later, saying he’ll text me in the morning. Go over what they did. 

I watch his car disappear down the road, and then I go to sleep myself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, hey! Here again with another chapter! I don't have too much to say, to be honest, but I do want to keep up with "Questions of the chapter"! Most of them are kind of close reading questions, others I ask because I want to see what y'all think. I really like talking with my readers! It makes me feel connected. 
> 
> Do you think I should link a curious cat for other questions y'all have about the story? 
> 
> QotC: What do you think is behind the door? 
> 
> One last thing: we all know what's been happening these last few days and I haven't said anything on AO3, but I'm speaking out on Twitter constantly. Writing and reading is a way to lessen anxiety and to take yourself out of the world for a minute because everyone needs a breather. HOWEVER, now that you're done with this chapter, I would like to ask you to sign some petitions and if you can, donate. We must support the Black Lives Matter movement to fight against systemic racism and police brutality. You can go to this [website](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/?fbclid=IwAR2aOqOoBROR_hX4SK8DqfW4Tgr5IUrmpyxSHQQ2rQln_5i7SH7C68XRNZo) for ways to help out.
> 
> Thank you so much!


	6. Chapter 6

**Simon**

“Rosie, we’ve _got_ to go—where are your slippers? Are they in the bag?”

I woke up this morning and Rosie wanted to be a burrito. I found her in the living room, wrapped up in a blanket, face down. I don’t know what in the world possessed her to do this, but it was funny until I realised that we would be late for her ballet unless we legged it and skipped breakfast. I never, _never_ sleep in late. Usually. We usually wake up at eight, make breakfast together, and eat at nine. And then we have free time until we have to go to the studio. 

“I just wanted to be a burrito, I don’t want to be late!” Rosie runs in, shoeless, but she has her bag. Her hair, though. 

Crowley, I have to do her hair. 

I grab her bag and she whines, but I rustle through it until I find a ponytail. I have no time for fancy buns or anything spectacular, so I pull it up and out of her eyes. 

And then, we’re off. 

When Rosie’s in the car, I never drive recklessly. I don’t take risks because I do not want to hurt her in any way. So, when I drive just a _tad_ faster than usual, my heart races the whole time. I know that I’m really only going a couple of miles over the speed limit, but….

We get there safe, and it’s miraculous that we have a minute to spare. I get out and help her hop down from the car, and she runs inside. I follow her to check her in, but I take my time and breathe for a moment. 

It’s been a while since we’ve been late for anything. Or _extremely_ close to late. For a moment, life feels...normal. Kind of. I used to be late a lot when Rosie first started ballet. But once I got the hang of things, I was a boss. 

The secretary doesn’t hold back from teasing me about Rosie’s near tardiness, though. She smirks at me—all of the dance mums do that and look at my arse—and shakes her head. 

“Just like the old days, huh?” she says while checking Rosie off. 

“I managed to wake up late for the first time in years. Blessing and a curse.” 

“Indeed. Just don’t be too late to pick her up.” She winks at me and turns back to her computer. 

All of the women in that building flirt with me, and I think most of them are married. 

Apparently, something about a single dad taking his daughter to dance practise is charming. And brave. And hot. 

I try to dash out of the building as fast as I can before any of the women sink their claws into me, and I succeed in my endeavour. Maybe because I brought her in late. 

Maybe I should keep doing that. 

Baz is supposed to meet me right in front of the studio—now—and then we’re supposed to go to a coffee shop next door. He isn’t here.

Maybe he thought we were supposed to meet _in_ the shop, which would make sense, too….

But then I see him, and he looks different. 

The Baz I’ve known since I was eleven was all ties and tucked in shirts. Trousers that fit well and polished shoes. Instead, he’s wearing a flowy, half-tucked button-down, _jeans_ , and boots. He looks like 2016 Harry Styles, but better. And greyer. And he’s wearing jeans and they’re tight. _Jeans_. 

I don’t think twenty-eight-year-old men should be able to pull that off, but he does flawlessly. 

I’m wearing fucking joggers. 

This is embarrassing. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Snow. My appearance doesn’t scare you that much, does it?” He quirks a brow and I want to force it back down. 

“I—I….”

“Captain?” 

It’s my turn to raise my brows, and he rolls his eyes. “I spend too much time with children. Let’s go in before we embarrass ourselves.” 

He pulls open the door and holds it open. So, I go in first. 

I drink so much coffee at work that I go into the shop wanting something else. I’ve never been in here before, actually, and I like it. It’s comfortable and filled with bookshelves and squishy chairs. I'd prefer us to sit at an actual table and find one before looking at the menu. 

Hot chocolate sounds nice and I order it, but before I can pay, Baz uses the couple of inches he has on me to take my wallet straight from my hands. He gets a black coffee because of course, he does. And then, he pays for the both of us. 

“Just because I can’t afford daycare doesn’t mean I can’t pay for a three-pound drink.” I snatch my wallet back from him and clobber to the table I picked. He sits across from me. 

“Consider it saving you money, Snow.”

“I don’t want to be your charity case. You’re helping me with my daughter until Penny comes back and that’s it.” I cross my arms and glare at the table. I already want this meeting to be over so Rosie and I can go to lunch. 

We have a tradition of going to an Italian restaurant on the corner of the strip. It’s family-run and pretty cheap, so that’s why we’ve kept up with it. Rosie looks forward to it every week. 

“Hey.” I look at Baz, and when he doesn’t look as pretentious, he kind of looks like a hipster. “I’m sorry. I won’t do that again, all right?”

“Whatever.” Just as I’m about to look away again, he places his hand on my arm. It almost feels like he’s pushing magic into me, even though I know he isn’t. But it’s enough to shock me. I even jump back. 

“I did...I did want to ask you something, actually. About Rosie. And This.”

I nod, and he continues. 

“What would you consider overstepping?” 

That’s a loaded question. There’s a lot to say about that, but it all comes to not “Being my replacement.” 

I don’t know if Baz understands what I mean; I swear to Merlin no one’s told the prat “no” in his life. 

He clears his throat. “I've been a long term babysitter before. If I gave you a few scenarios, would you tell me whether it would be too much or not?” 

Baz, asking _my_ permission? He continues to surprise me. 

“Go ahead.”

“Cleaning the house.” 

Good question, actually. I can’t get mad at him for that, I guess. “Sure. That doesn’t bother me.”

Baz nods. “This one’s more important. I haven’t ever...well….” 

Baz eyes the place and I guess he spots our drinks because he gets up and returns with them seconds later, and aims it on nothing in particular. “ **_Fall on deaf ears_ **.” 

That’s a spell I’ve never heard before, but to test it out, I call to the barista, “Hey, can I have cinnamon in my hot chocolate?” 

The barista carries on without budging—it’s worked. 

"So, the spell's something atmospheric?” I’m not nearly as peeved off as I was just a moment ago. Most of it is because Baz never ceases to impress me with his wandwork. 

“Anyone who walks in won’t be able to hear us.” He bends down and tucks his wand into the side of his shoe. “Handy little trick. Dead useful.”

“Certainly.”

“Now.” He sits back up and steeples his hands. “Do you want me to mention that I’m a mage to Rosie _at all_?”

Another good question. And something _I_ probably should’ve brought up. 

If I still looked at Baz as an enemy, I would probably tell him no. I would suspect he’d teach her dark magic to curse me. 

But I learned that Baz was always right when I found out my heritage. 

Deep down, I haven’t been mad at him for a long time. I don’t really have the right to be, do I? He triggers my fight or flight response, still, but it’s probably just a deep-rooted habit I need to unlearn. 

After all, he’s helping me when he could’ve easily turned in those papers to launch an investigation. 

I know now that Baz only wants to help, so I nod. “If you want to teach her some spells, you can. You’re a good mage and you could definitely help her. But I do want to let her get used to everything, and for us to discuss it together.” 

Baz looks like he’s been liberated because he grins, and I’m confused until he says, “Thank Merlin, I’ve been wanting to teach her how to put stardust in her hair since Wednesday.”

What? I lean against my knuckles and cock my head. “Stardust.”

“Yes. Like glitter, but it doesn’t get everywhere and looks elegant and organic. She wears that little tiara with her ballet costume and….”

While Baz drones on, I can feel myself blush. I don't...I don't know why. I think I enjoy that he gets on well with Rosie. He seems so...glad to babysit her. And I can tell that he really cares about her. I know teachers are _supposed_ to care about their students, but he seems so...ecstatic. 

I’m glad that I found someone to babysit Rosie who cares about her almost as much as I do. Some babysitters can be disconnected and disinterested. Baz likes this. And he likes to send pictures of what they’re doing. It’s cute...and pure. On Thursday, she dressed him in a feather boa and some of her sunglasses that were far too small for him. 

Baz would be a good father, and it worries me a little...what if he’s doing better than I am? What if...what if Rosie wants him more? Surely not, but….

I never thought about Baz being a dad. I never thought about him at all. Other than thinking that he’s plotting against me, or that he’s a vampire.

That reminds me. 

“How are you going to get your blood while you’re over?”

I can tell that vampirism is still a touchy subject because he cringes, but waves it off. “I keep them in pouches now. Makes things more convenient.”

“Then bring some over and put it in the fridge, but don’t tell Rosie what they—”

“You know I wouldn’t.” 

I do. 

After going over a few more dos and don’ts I didn’t directly write out for Baz, the conversation runs dry and my hot chocolate’s lukewarm. Even though the silence isn’t awkward, I feel like someone needs to say something. 

Baz does, and I go frigid when he asks, “What did you do after you never showed up to the manor?”

Not a single note of accusation. He does look morose, but he’s not angry. Not anymore. When he showed up to the White Chapel that day, I was sure that he was ready to kill the Mage _and_ me. 

My hand twitches. I don’t like to think about it because when I do, it reminds me of how shitty my reasoning was. I should’ve gone to Baz, but the minute I thought things were clear with Agatha, I clung to her. I wanted one last normal moment before the world would go to chaos. And then, the Mage took me. If it weren’t for an impulse, I would have never ended the Humdrum. If it weren’t for Penny, I would’ve died. And then Baz showed up. It was all so confusing and messy, and thinking back on it makes my brain a little fuzzy. 

“You saw what happened and that was all that did happen. The Mage called me. I thought that he needed me for the war. He was going to kill me for my power, and then _I_ killed him after putting that magic back where it belonged. Otherwise, I spent Christmas watching _Dr Who_.” When I should have been helping him. 

We sit across from each other and it feels like the world around us has faded away. We’re here, thinking back ten years, almost exactly. That was our life then. This is our life now, in a coffee shop, a father and her teacher. But also, two ex-enemies. 

I need to know. 

“Did you...did you ever find out about your mum?” 

Baz’s pain wears heavy on his face, like it’s set in rock. He’s kept a youthful facade, surely encouraged by vampirism, but the lines in his face age him. 

“I managed to get something out of Fiona. I connected the dots, and then I went to kill her murderer. I believe we met along the way.” 

What does he mean by that? I want to ask, and then it clicks. 

“The Mage?” 

He nods curtly, and I can feel my stomach sink. Of course.

“Did you ever get your magic back?” Baz is quiet. Almost gentle. I’ve never seen him like this, and then I realize we’re leaning in. Not in a gay way, but like we’re telling secrets. I pull back. 

“A little bit...but I’m pretty weak now. Strong enough to get into Watford and spell the wings away—”

“You _still_ have those?” 

I do, but I choose to keep them. It’s pretty easy to hide them, anyway. Clearly Baz wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t told him. 

So, I shrug. “And the tail.”

He looks impressed, but he doesn’t say anything because his eyes focus on something behind me. And then, he looks down at his phone. 

“Rosie’s class ended a couple of minutes ago.” 

I look at my phone too and grimace. 

Time to face the mums….

But I don’t have to, do I? Baz is supposed to pick her up after dance and take her to therapy on Saturdays. Or he asked me if I would like him to since it would give me complete free time to work on bakery things I need to get done. 

I’m considering this training. 

“You should go in and introduce yourself to the secretary, just so she knows that you’ll be picking Rosie up until further notice.” The mums are going to _eat him up_. 

And sure enough, when he returns with Rosie, he looks vandalised. His hair is tousled, and he stands there like he’s just been told some vexing information. “You should have warned me about the mums.”

“I never got a warning.”

“Can I be a burrito after we get lunch, Daddy?” Rosie asks, clinging to my leg. This, still? I scoop her up from the ground and place her on my hip. She rests her head on my chest. 

“If Dr Grimm wants to help you become one.” Baz looks confused, and I wave my hand at him. He’ll figure it out. 

“So, should I meet you at your house or the therapist office?” Baz asks. He stands there and it looks like he’s mentally checked out from being both a teacher and a babysitter. 

“You’re not going to eat with us?” Rosie asks.

He snaps right back into it. 

“Where are you eating?”

Rosie squirms down from my arms and takes us both by the hand. She gives us no time to discuss it or disagree with her, so we wind up standing in the front of the restaurant, looking at menus. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this scene was brought to you by my seven-year-old step sister. She wanted to be a burrito yesterday (as this is posted on June 1, 2020.)
> 
> My QotC is more an additive to the story as opposed to asking you a question about the chapter. Unless you wanna answer this: wHy'S sImOn BlUsHiNg?!?!?!
> 
> QotC: Do you want a playlist? I really like making playlists for stories. Also, if I do make one, what songs do you think would fit well? 
> 
> If you have any questions about the story or anything in general, you can ask me on [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/forcrowleyssake)!
> 
> Also, if anyone's been wondering how I imagine Rosie, this is the closest I could get in the sims. Her curls are a tad more defined and her hair's just a bit more over her shoulders. It's almost more bronze than red.
> 
> (Can you tell I just found out how to embed pictures and links?)
> 
> Have a good Monday!
> 
> EDIT: I will not be posting in solidarity with Blackout Tuesday. You will receive an update Wednesday.


	7. Chapter 7

**Baz**

It’s just like Rosie, just like Snow, to run into something without thinking it out. I don’t know if she knows that we hate each other (or that we _used_ to); she’s lucky that we’ve come into this new truce, and that it is over her. 

Is it even a truce if we’re not arguing? (Not yet, at least.)

We decide what we want before we approach the woman standing in front of the till. She looks about my father’s age, and she’s crinkled from a hard life and copious amounts of time in the sun. She has an Italian accent when she says, “Hello! I see there’s a new addition to the Salisburys.” 

Rosie, as energetic as ever, nearly runs into the intricately tiled till and hops up a bit, placing her elbows on the flat surface. Based on Snow’s indifferent visage, I can infer that this is a normal occurrence. 

The woman smiles bigger. “Signorina Rosie!” 

“Are there any new people?” Rosie asks and looks towards the seating. She shakes her head. And then, she looks at me. 

I’ve certainly never eaten here before, but the restaurant is charming. 

Rosie and the woman share a similar look. Rosie has work to do.

“You know what you have to do,” the woman says to Rosie, bestowing her with a child’s menu with crayons tucked into the fold. The child runs off to a table and sits down, starting on her project.

I’m going to get her those coloured pencils. 

Now, it’s me, Snow, and the woman. 

“This is Alice,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “She’s owned this place since we graduated from Watford. She’s basically a family friend, now.”

The woman—Alice—grins at me and holds out her hand to shake. I go in to do so, and she pulls me over the till to hug me. I stand there, not knowing what to do. I never hug on the first...meal? But she’s nice enough, so I pat her on the shoulder and awkwardly pull away. 

“Basilton Grimm-Pitch. I’m babysitting Rosie for a while, and she wanted me to eat here.” 

“Well, I’m glad you are,” she says to me, then pokes at her register. “Do you know what you would like to eat?” 

I settle on an authentic Italian style Margherita pizza. Snow and Rosie’s food will be a mystery to me until it comes out. She seemed to know what they wanted right away. (I guess the little family stood with me and feigned picking a meal to humour me.)

Instead of letting me pay for my meal, Snow pays for the entire thing—I think it’s just to annoy me. He wasn’t happy when I tried to pay for his. He was insulted.

It’s a money issue I don’t, and never had to, understand. He was right when he said I’ve never had to go through monetary issues. Crowley, the money I have now is mainly inherited. I haven’t paid for a thing with the money _I_ earned in my life, but Snow….

He works for it, he saves it, he invests it. I understand why he was upset. 

Rosie’s scribbling away on a piece of blank paper when we sit on either side of her. She’s got an eye and half a jaw—she’s drawing me. I can tell by the exaggerated widow’s peak. I involuntarily rub it. I’ve never seen her in action like this. She takes any object she can and makes it into art, but as she draws me, I’m astounded. It’s detailed for a seven-year-old. And true to my appearance. 

“Did you see Rosie’s wall?” Snow asks me, which snaps me from my reverie. I turn to where he’s pointing behind me, and I see it. An entire wall of drawings, all hand-drawn by Rosie. I can tell that she’s developed a style over time. When did she start this? There are hundreds of faces staring back at me. 

“How long did that take?” I ask, astounded by the art on the wall, and I turn back to the little artist. She’s deep in her work now, leaning close to the paper. She brushes away a few crayon crumbs. 

I’m going to get those coloured pencils today. 

Snow looks at her, and then at me. He recognises she’s too distracted to speak, because he tells me, “Three years. It’s her favourite thing to do.” 

Rosie’s just about finished when a man—the chef?—brings out her food. It’s a fairly basic looking ravioli dish, but when she notices it, she shoves the drawing aside and claps her hands. 

She does her typical chair bouncing, which I’ve grown to cherish, and stabs into her ravioli once the plate’s on the table. Despite shoving the entire ravioli in her mouth, she chews with her mouth closed. And I think her napkin’s in her lap. (It’s odd to see bits and pieces of Agatha poking out of Snow’s near carbon copy.) 

Snow’s food comes next (a lovely looking lasagna), then mine.

The pizza looks amazing, and it smells just as good. The slices are already cut, and so I take one and put it on my plate. I’m about to take a bite, but I feel that penetrating stare Snow gives me when he wants to say something, so I cock a brow at him. 

“Does that have garlic?” 

Oh, Merlin and Morgana. I take a bite of it and smile with my mouth closed. I hope Rosie doesn’t ask any questions, but she’s inquisitive. 

Vampires, or at least I, cannot get sick or die from garlic. That’s another common misconception, and Simon is full of them. 

Snow doesn’t ask any more questions, though, and we eat in silence. 

At the end of our lunch, Rosie adds my picture to the wall of customers, and I take a picture. For some odd reason, it makes me happy knowing that I have been drawn and added to the wall by Rosie Salisbury. 

“Will we meet you at the house, then?” Snow asks as we meander onto the pavement. Rosie’s gone back to holding our hands, and she’s swinging our arms about. 

“Yes. But I do need to grab something from a shop before. Shouldn’t take too long.” 

Snow shrugs. Most of his responses are shrugs. “All right, then. Just come in. You don’t need to knock.” 

I’m getting Rosie those coloured pencils and a good notebook. Something sturdy for a seven-year-old. 

I climb into my car, and then I sit there for a minute and sigh. I can’t tell if it’s in relief, or out of...frustration. 

My eyes follow Rosie and Snow to their car, and I watch as he helps her into the backseat. I feel foolish—idiotic—as I watch them. 

Children and husbands. They’re things I never imagine myself having. If I could make a ten-year prediction, I can’t imagine myself sitting on the couch with a little’un wedged between me and a faceless man watching a movie. I see cocktails and one night stands. Trying to find myself purpose in this world somewhere. A day job as a teacher. Nights figuring out what in Crowley’s name I’m going to do when people start to notice I’ve stopped ageing. 

But there’s something...something about sitting there with Simon and Rosie. Watching her draw. Sharing glances with Simon. I imagine inching my hand closer and closer to his until we entwine our fingers. 

I’m just the fucking babysitter in the end. Rosie’s teacher. After this, and once she’s in Watford, I’ll just be a name and a face. If I’m lucky, a reference for a job she picks up during the summers. But I’ll be nothing more to him. Or her. Not even a family friend. (We have too much history.) 

I’ll be all right with it, I will make peace with it. I’ve done it before. But now I realize that those feelings—the burning, the desire, the want—are still there after all of those years. Even after he confirmed my suspicions of intentional betrayal, he still is Simon Snow. And he engulfs all of my senses. Sight, smell, touch, hearing. Taste, even. 

These feelings will get stronger. I will watch him grow into the father I know he can be. I want to help that, and I want to see it for them. The consequence is, I know I will fall back in love with him as I walk with them along the way.

Be still, my heart. I cannot go under again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I don't have much to say today! I didn't post yesterday because of Blackout Tuesday. 
> 
> QotC: Do you think Baz's redeveloping feelings will hold him back? Or do you think it's going to overwhelm him?
> 
> Also, don't be afraid to ask me questions! I check AO3 pretty regularly and will respond asap!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning this chapter is short and NSFW.

**Baz**

I met him when I was most vulnerable. It was my sophomore year of undergraduate school during the holiday that segued into my junior year, and I made my way to Los Vegas. Idiotic, I know, for someone to go to a place like Vegas _alone_ because he was bored. But I had the money and the time and the lack of motivation to do anything productive. 

At that time, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life anymore. I thought I wanted to work with the Coven, but the idea of staying too close to magic —even though it is in my blood and will always be my best attribute—was beginning to be less than appealing. What was the point? Why would I want to help put the World back together if I was still technically blacklisted? 

Mages always find their way back to it—I relied on that, in my case—but in the meantime, where did I venture?

Alongside that, I wanted to learn more about my vampirism. The internet is particularly helpful in an uncomfortable way, and with a few searches, I was able to find that vampires flourished on American soil. It wouldn’t hurt to do some field research. 

He was the first person I found—he staked his claim on me right away. 

Through him, I learned many things about myself that I wouldn’t find in books. Too much lore, never enough facts. I can retract my fangs while I eat now, so I’m not self-conscious about that anymore. I don’t have to kill someone to drink from them, though I do prefer animal over human blood. 

This man, an enigma in my life, changed it in ways I couldn’t thank him enough for; but along the way, we found ourselves intermingling in a different way. For someone so old, so powerful, he had smooth hands and sly blue eyes that instilled security. He put together pieces of the puzzle that I didn’t know fit together. And now, he’s a residual ghost in my life, coming and leaving my flat as he pleases and for one reason only. 

And usually, it’s when I’m feeling especially lorn. 

He’s here now, in my living room, after a night spent with Rosie. I’m tired and want to sleep, but he’s drawn across my couch, staring at me with those eyes filled with intent. He’s taken to making a fire—despite his flammability—and the flamelight works wonders for his auburn hair. 

I feel both the pull and the push. With him, I can forget it all. But...but my heart pulls me in another direction.

I walk closer, unbuckling my belt. 

Even though I know he’s taking advantage of me, it’s easier to work things out with him physically than it is by speaking. Less tongue, more hands. 

“C’mere,” he says to me. And I do. 

When we first did this, I was still in love with Simon Snow. I was headfirst in those curls. His stockiness and that jaw...I couldn’t do anything without thinking about him, but Lamb—that's his name—kept telling me that I shouldn’t worry about someone who wouldn’t give me the time of day. I didn’t listen at first. 

And then fingers brushed against thighs and traveled upwards. 

Lamb's hands ghost over my happy trail now, and I shiver. I’m not sure if it’s in disgust or pleasure. 

It’s like falling into a trap with him. You take two steps away and he takes one forward. And then he meets you in the middle and you forget everything else. Not in a romantic way—I’ve never had romantic feelings towards him—but in a way that numbs the pain. Just for a moment. The type that screws your head back on after you’re unsure of things. 

Clarity, if you will. 

I guess that’s why I let this happen. I guess that’s why he shows up when I’m broken up about something. And when his job is done, he slinks away again. Into the shadows. Across the Atlantic.

He has a kingdom to run. 

His hands work now, unzipping my jeans ever so slowly. He likes to tease. And I run my fingers through his hair just to yank it. He growls under his breath, and it rouses some sort of emotion in my chest. 

Nostalgia. Bronze hair. Too blue eyes. Freckles and moles I could use to chart a map. 

I squeeze my eyes shut and remind myself that I’m supposed to be setting that aside. 

This is my therapy. 

We’re undressed before I know it, and his hair hangs in my face. I reach up and curl a lock around my finger. He smiles at me with the look he uses for nights like these. It’s tucked back away after we’re done. That’s all I need it for, otherwise. I think I’d gag if I’d see it any other time. 

“You want this, right? This is something you want.” 

He says this every time. In many ways, he’s using an upper hand. But he always asks, and if I say no, he’ll leave. He has that decency at the least. 

“Yes,” I rasp, and he comes down on me, our bodies pressed together. 

Realistically, and in the long run, it would make sense for me and Lamb to “work out.” We’re both undead. We both have power. Together, if I wanted to play the bad guy again, we would be unstoppable. 

But in that case, I would be arm candy. Convenient. Reachable. I can only be that way for so long before I pull a Wellbelove. 

Where would I turn to in my eternity of a life?

So I set those ideas aside. I let it take me now, and I let him do what he wants. I let my mind go blank and allow the pleasure to surge through my body. 

He tugs at my hair and I pull his in return. His fangs pop and he manages to nick my lip. He goes at my neck and I worry about it later because I want now to wash all thoughts away. 

This is such a nasty cycle, and it’s something toxic, but the strings aren’t there. It’s a farewell without feelings each time. Maybe someday, I won’t need this anymore. 

For now, I need to disengage with my feelings. 

And when he’s done, it’s like he wasn’t here in the first place. It’s just me on the sofa, a panting mess with my head lost in subspace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY TRUST ME I DIDN'T WANT TO WRITE THAT EITHER BUT I PROMISE IT'S RELEVANT. Trust the process pls!!!
> 
> QotC: What do you make of this? Do you think there will be repercussions? 
> 
> ALSO THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 101 VOTES!!! It's crazy that I got it this fast!!! I'm going to start putting together a playlist in celebration! Leave some song suggestions below!


	9. Chapter 9

**Simon** ****

These days, work is more gruelling than ever. I’m pushing myself to my limits, and I wake up with sore knees and back problems. At first, it wasn’t bad. Something I thought I could sleep off. But with each day that passes, the worse it gets.

This morning, it was so bad that my boss had to send me home. I tried to argue with him, but he said that I need to gain strength back or I’ll do permanent damage. 

I hate that he’s right, but...but it’s paid leave. He’s paying me. In the end, that’s what matters. He says I deserve it, and that it’s been long overdue with how much I work. 

Rosie could tell it was bad. She heard my bones creak. Saw me struggle to stand. I could barely walk. It’s something that’s going to have to heal up eventually. And it will. Nothing feels torn, or I don’t think it does. 

But I think I scared her a bit. She kept asking me if I was okay. If I needed her to take care of me. (That broke my heart; I’m supposed to be taking care of her, but I can never get that quite right, can I?) She refused to leave the car until I told her I’d call Baz, and then, she ran out and slammed the door behind her. (Bad habit.) 

Either way, I ended up at home, in bed, with the lights out and the curtains drawn. I’m supposed to sleep, but it’s hard to at this point. 

All I can do is think about things I need to get done. 

There’s one bit of glittering hope in this series of unfortunate events; I finally have the key to my bakery. I’m going to need to go and meet up with my contractor because he’s ready for me, but I can’t when I’m in this state. 

I wonder if it would be too much for me to ask Baz to make a key and give it to him —he’ll need it. And Rosie’s original layout to make sure his 3D model is precise (as feasibly possible).

The plan is to ask him this when he comes over with Rosie and is surprised to see me home, but I get a call from him at around eleven. 

I don’t think he expected me to pick up because he says, “Oh.”

“Didn’t expect to get me?” 

“I was actually preparing a monologue about how you’re working yourself too hard. Rosie told me that you looked miserable. Did you take off?” 

Because of Rosie, Baz and I have been friendlier to each other. Bits and pieces of our past poke out. Sometimes one of us starts to rile up over something stupid...but we know how to diffuse. 

Maybe it’s because I’m no longer an H-bomb. 

Maybe it’s because we’re adults, now. 

One of us laughs, and then the other joins. 

I never thought in my entire life that I would end up laughing  _ with  _ Baz. But then again, I never thought we would end up with Baz babysitting my daughter. Or coming back into my life at all. 

Some things are meant to be unexpected, I guess. 

“More like the boss sent me home. Apparently, I have a lot of paid time off, so he’s giving me a few days.” 

“Oh, Crowley.” Baz sighs, and it almost feels like I can feel his breath on my ear. I shiver. “What do you need me to do?”

I blink. What? “I don’t need you to do anything, Baz. I’m sure I can get around and take care of her. Consider this your day off—”

“No. Snow, seriously. Your boss put you out of commission for a reason. What do you need me to do?” 

Despite the leaps and bounds Baz has taken to help me, it still leaves me astounded that he’s willing to offer. It’s...nice. And I don't have a set feeling about him, but I appreciate all he’s done. 

“I’m sure I can—”

“I will find a way to magickally throttle you through this mobile if you do not give me a specified list of what you want me to do. I have a pen and paper right here. Shoot.” 

We’re both stubborn, aren’t we? 

“How willing are you to get a key made for the contractor and deliver it to him?”

I told him about finally having the keys to the building when I got home from work one night. It woke him up, and I think he almost hugged me. Everything was awkward when he left. Then, things went back to normal the next day. 

“Done. Anything else? You should go to a doctor. Get checked out, see if there’s anything wrong with you.”

“I just need to rest—”

“This is why there’s a stereotype of men dying younger than women.”

“When was the last time you went to the doctor, Baz?”

“I can’t get sick. It would be pointless.”

“I’m just saying—”

“We’re talking in circles and I’m clearly not going to get through to you. What else?”

I find myself smiling and I don’t know why. “We have food, so we don’t need anything from the store. But...but it would be helpful...no….”

I put my foot down on asking Baz to be a step-in parent. I should be all right enough to drive her to school in the morning. 

“ _ Snow _ .”

This man’s going to get it out of me one way or another, isn’t he?

“Maybe...if you would spend the night? It would make things easier because I’m not supposed to get out of bed. But you don’t have to. I’m asking too much.”

“You’re injured. It’s not too much.” Baz’s sincerity throws me off. And his voice oozes with it. It’s such a contrast—the same voice has thrown curses at me. 

“I still feel bad. I shouldn’t be in this—”

“Hey.” Baz cuts me off, but he’s still gentle. “I’ll drop Rosie off after school. Then, I’ll take care of the keys and pick up my clothes. For now, try to rest. Did you get some water? You need to stay hydrated.”

And now, I feel like he’s babysitting  _ me _ . 

After Baz’s phone call and sending him my contractor’s information, I manage to get some sleep. My wings pop out at one point and I have to sit up to readjust so I'm not lying on top of one, but I fall back asleep until Rosie got home. She wakes me up with her recklessness.

She’s a thunderstorm, honestly. So loud. Her shoes hit against the wall when she kicks them off. I have to use magic erasers to wipe off the skids. (They’re not actually magic, but it works better than any cleaning spell I know.) She thuds to my room, that force of nature, and she slams the door open. 

I wince. I hope that didn’t put a hole in the drywall. She’s particularly boisterous today. 

“Daddy, I am here to take care of you!” She runs to the bed and bounces onto her side. Then, she gasps. 

Rosie’s little fingers dance along the webbing of one of my wings. I don’t have my wand in reach, so I haven’t bothered to put them away. She likes to touch them when I let them free. It feels like rubber and isn’t like anything like my skin. She used to rub my arm in comparison. 

“How are you going to help me, now?” I want to roll on my back, but I’m kind of stuck here. “Can you grab my wand, princess?” 

“Yes!” she scrambles off the bed and runs around to where it’s tucked in my work uniform pocket. I take it from her, and once my wings are spelled away, I roll onto my back. This feels so much better. I heave a sigh of relief. 

“Dr Grimm said that I should just keep you company and that will help. I did my homework with him after school.”

I always forget that he runs an after school programme, too. Baz Pitch is a busy man, juggling several things at once. 

How is  _ he _ holding up? I should ask him that. We don’t have heart to hearts, but we text enough. 

If he’s going to be over later, I can ask, too. Maybe before Rosie comes crawling into my room to cuddle with me for the night. 

“Hey, can you help me sit up?” I ask her, and we fashion pillows for me to prop up on. After a few hours of sleep, I am feeling much better. But there’s still a bit of ache. It would be better to be helped as much as I need to. (Minus bathroom breaks.) 

Once we’re both comfortable and Rosie’s grabbed her coloured pencils and colouring pad (which Baz got for her), we sit together. I scroll through the photos Baz has sent me of her. He’s suggested printing them off and replacing some of the old pictures that I have hung up. 

“You can put the old ones in a scrapbook,” he said, and it was when I came in from work one early morning. He was still awake, working on grading papers, but I think he had it on his mind. “It keeps the memories alive and you can showcase new pictures you have of her now. That’s why I’ve been taking so many of her.” 

“And so you think you’re my interior designer, now?” I asked him. It was both accusatory and humoured. Of course Baz would have a critical eye about something like pictures on the wall. 

Now that I’m thinking about it, I might get these printed. It could liven up the house a bit. 

“Daddy?”

When I look at Rosie, her eyes are pooling with curiosity. When they look like that, I know she’s been wanting to ask whatever she’s thinking for a while. 

I set my phone aside. She takes this as an invitation to sit in my lap, so she does. My fingers naturally drift to her curls, and I begin to take small strands and plait them. 

“Dr Grimm said that you and him used to go to school together.” 

My fingers freeze. How much did he say?

“What did he tell you?”

“He said that I would have to ask you the rest,” she says and I can feel my muscles relax. 

But what brought upon this conversation? Maybe she saw a school uniform, or did he mention magic? I glance at her hair and there’s no stardust...that’s what it’s called, I think. 

I may as well explain it simply. She’s too young to know everything that went on—or the heavy details, at least. 

“I went to Watford. You remember those pictures I showed you of me when I was younger, right?” Agatha had so many. She left all of them. 

Rosie nods her head.

I continue. 

“When you are in your first year of Watford, the headmaster or mistress will use a crucible, and the crucible—”

“What’s a crucible?” Rosie turns around to look at me, and I yank a little bit of her hair on accident.

I rub the area to soothe it. “It’s something that melts iron.” 

She turns back around and leans on my chest. 

“Well, after they say a spell and wait for the iron to melt, you meet your roommate. The crucible assigns them. Baz—Dr Grimm and I were roommates. I used to call him Baz. We didn’t get on too well.” 

How do I tell her that I was brainwashed by her grandfather? That I was always wrong and Baz was always right. There are some places where I still don’t agree with his politics—Watford should and still does allow any semi-human with magic to learn—but the Mage was corrupt. It was a power grab. 

The Mage created too many wars. 

But I don’t want Rosie to know about that now. The World of Mages she’ll know is the one we created. It’s safer. It’s comforting. I’m glad that this is  _ her _ experience and not mine. 

We bled and fought for her. We made it right for her. 

She’ll blow us all away, someday. 

“The rest are things you will read in history books, Princess. But that’s how we knew each other.” 

Sometimes, I know I did good for Rosie. I tear myself up a lot about things that are out of control. I constantly think I’m not enough. I dwell and I mope, but...but there are things that I’ve done that I know will help her future. That lays a foundation out for her world. Our world. I did that. I was able to do that for her.

Maybe at the time she wasn’t in mind, but it was always for the future. And she is my future. My little ball of hope. 

I take her into a bone crushing hug and she grunts. “Daddy! Daddy!” She’s laughing—music to my ears—but I loosen my grip. 

Rosie turns towards me and she’s grinning ear to ear. But she also looks confused. “What was that for?”

I reach out and cup one of her little cheeks. It’s so small in my hand. My thumb rakes along her cheekbone. “I love you. That’s why.”

And she kisses me all over my cheeks. 

Even though I have my struggles, I’m the luckiest man alive at the end of the day.

Baz shows up about half an hour later, and Rosie disappears with him. I don’t know what they have in store, but I can hear the clattering in the kitchen. Nothing broken. Just two people who don’t know their way around. 

Rosie’s first to come back in my room with something in her hands, and Baz second. 

“Can you  _ please _ turn a light on, Snow? It’s dark in here.” 

While I turn on the bedside light, Rosie takes to opening the curtains. It’s getting darker earlier this time of year, but the sun is still out. Just barely. 

“Much better,” Rosie says, plopping down on the bed. She hands me a folded piece of paper while Baz puts a tray full of food in front of me. 

We have a tray? 

I look at him and his hair’s out of his bun and falling into his face. His hair certainly isn’t his best aspect but he looks nice today. My gaze lingers, and it drifts down slightly...he has chest hair, too, now. And his sleeves are pushed just above his elbows….

The card. Rosie gave me a card. 

When I open it, the first thing I notice is Rosie’s chunky letters reading, “GET WELL SOON DADDY!” 

Below are pictures, portraits, of the two of us. And then on the other side, Baz. Close, but not as close to us as Rosie and I are to each other. She had him sign his name next to his picture. 

“I told her not to draw me,” Baz tells me, and when he sits at the foot of my bed, my feet jerk back. He notices, and I think he’s blushing—can vampires blush? But he walks out of the room, mumbling something about me and Rosie needing some alone time for once. 

“I wanted to draw him because I wanted to because he’s helped a lot,” she tells me, taking the card from my hands. 

“Why not Aunt Penny? She’s helped a lot too,” I say. But...but. Okay. I look at the picture again. I’m not sure what I’m feeling. She’s not  _ replacing _ me with Baz or anything. He’s not taking my place. 

“I have a lot of pictures of us together,” she huffs. “I wanted a picture of  _ us _ together!” 

I’m not sure what I’m feeling, but I know I’m not upset whatsoever. 

Just...confused. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you get the references, let me know. Had to pay homage to one of my fav fandoms. 
> 
> QotC: Do you think the light in Simon's room symbolizes anything? What about replacing the pictures? 
> 
> Anyway, I'm going to link the [Fic Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wYSg0t4U9vTGLJ3GN89AZ?si=aQ8z-udHSK6amY2pQdNT-w), but be warned. It is incomplete and I'll probably change songs. Once it's finished, it would be preferable to play in order!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys have a good day!! And thank you so much again for the kudos and comments! Comments make me so happy I swear


	10. Chapter 10

**Baz**

Waking up on Snow’s sofa at the sound of an alarm is much more disorienting than waking up to his blue eyes peering down at me. I’m so used to it that I dare say I’m disappointed. 

(Dare say? I am disappointed, full stop.)

But I’m not waking up because I need to go home. I’m right where I’m supposed to be on this sofa. Snow offered Rosie’s bed when he came out and talked to me last night. She always goes into his room and they cuddle, I assume. But I felt it would be odd for me to occupy her room. Not to mention, all of those eyes of her drawings would alarm me. 

The sofa was a good choice. 

But here I am, staring at the ceiling. I need to take a shower, and there’s only one. It’s in Snow’s room. Though I used to go out of my room to be quiet around him, I don’t know how easy Rosie stirs. 

And it feels odd, using his bathroom. 

Everything about him, this setup,  _ everything _ feels odd. It’s something I’ll get used to, I know, but once I’m used to it, he won’t need me anymore. 

I try not to think about it. I cope in deviant ways to keep from thinking it. But I always do at the end of the day. 

And especially after last night. 

Snow insisted his back was healed up enough to put Rosie to bed himself. He spent some time in there with her, maybe thirty minutes, and when he walked into the living room, that little devil’s tail whipped around. 

“Something’s got you excited,” I commented. I couldn’t take my eyes off his tail. 

“I haven’t been able to read Rosie to bed in years.” He sat down next to me, our knees almost brushing. My heart doesn’t beat, but I felt that cease that comes with thrill. 

Watching Simon Snow beam like he was is like being on an upper. He’s warm and he radiates the heat. His cheeks flush and those eyes of his gleam. It’s a sight to behold, really. He’s so beautiful like that. He wears the fatherhood look well. 

He was always beautiful, but I like him like this. Warm and soft around the edges. 

“Once you’ve got your bakery up and running, you’ll be able to do more of those things with her.” I nudged his shoulder with mine, and it made my stomach drop. His smile made it worse. 

“I guess you’re right. I can’t wait for that.” 

We were both bent over, elbows on the knees, hands clasped between. I felt hot all over, and the blood I had had earlier rushed to the tips of my ears. 

“How are you holding up...well, with everything you’re doing. You’re busy, Baz. How do you do it without...I don’t know, burning out?”

I don’t know why it shocked me that he asked, but I stared at him in surprise. Had he actually said that? But he stared at me. He wanted an answer. 

“I’m holding up fine. I’m having no issues...but it’s because I want to do what I do. Not because I need to.” I was lucky I had enough willpower in the reserves to keep myself from taking one of his hands. After years of pretend hating him, it was easy. “Once you’re in the bakery, it will be the same for you.” 

Sitting like this with him made nothing easier, and I know now as I lay here, I will find Lamb on my sofa the next time I go home. He might as well live in the apartment and ignore me after each of our...sessions until I need him again. Simon gunks up my senses each time I’m around him. 

I thought one fix would do it, but Snow is particularly difficult to detox out of my system, especially when I’m around him or his byproduct more than I’m not. 

“Hey, Baz.” 

His voice is quiet and sudden, and it strikes me in such a way that I take a sharp intake of breath. 

I need to go home again before I come back into the Snow-Salisbury household. 

“Snow, you should be sleeping. You need to take care of your back.”

I swing my legs over the side of the sofa and stand. 

He’s looking me all over like he’s never seen me in pyjamas before and I don’t know what to make of it. 

“I need to make Rosie breakfast. It’s her favourite meal of the day.” 

“Come on. I’ll take care of it.” 

He looks wounded and confused, and he needs more sleep. My hand finds the small of his back and he winces a little, but I keep it here and guide him to bed. A perfect time to take a shower, too. 

  
  


After waking Rosie up, getting her ready for the day, and feeding her, we take off for school. 

She swings her legs as she watches the scenery pass. She’s usually talkative, even in the mornings. If she ever gets in trouble for anything else at school, it’s that. (Though, it’s rare. She’s a good girl.) I assume her head’s somewhere, romping around in wonders. 

“A penny for your thoughts, Miss Salisbury?”

“A what?” Her eyes meet mine in the mirror and I refocus my gaze on the road. 

“What are you thinking?”

“Daddy said that you and him didn’t get along when he went to school. I’m trying to think about why.” 

When I glance at the mirror again, she’s leaned against the window, watching the rain fall. 

So, she asked him. 

I was showing her some pictures on my mobile, and there was a class picture I had taken a picture of for Daphne. Rosie recognised the uniforms. I wouldn’t tell her anything Snow wouldn’t want me to, so I told her I went to school with him with no explanation. 

Answering her current question in full would be certainly overstepping, so I give her something very basic. “We didn’t think the same way and our families weren’t very nice to each other.”

“But you get along now.” 

“That’s because we’ve grown up, and we realised how silly the fighting was.” 

We say nothing else and I park in my spot a few moments later. 

The day goes on as it usually does. I have Rosie’s class at ten and they’re working on a new project. We’re focusing on family, as family is a community. I’ve asked them to create a family tree. They're supposed to add anyone they consider family. Before I assigned it, I asked Simon if he thought that I should change it so I wouldn’t upset Rosie and he shrugged. 

“We’re an exception, Baz. I don’t think it would upset her,” he told me. 

I still have a side project for her in case it does, but so far it hasn’t. She’s even gotten extremely creative with it. 

At recess, she collects sticks, rocks, and grass. And she’s using paper clips to hang the pictures she’s drawn. I’ve helped her with hot glueing the grass to the sticks and the rocks together to form a base. I’m going to get her a little planter to nestle it in, too. 

The majority of the other kids have taken to colouring a piece of paper. Rosie’s mind astounds me, honestly. 

After her class goes back to their homeroom, I grade papers and projects. That’s how I’m able to manage everything I do; I grade at any given time I can. Once I’m finished with this grading, I won’t have to worry about anymore until next week—I’ll have the weekend free. 

While I’m grading the projects from last week, someone gently knocks on my door. At first, I think it might be an upset Rosie needing to either vent or take a time out (she still does occasionally, but not nearly as much as she did before I started babysitting), but then the headmaster pokes his head into the room. 

“Good, good. You’re here.” He shuts the door behind him and I stand. (I don’t like to sit in front of him. It’s disrespectful.) 

“Do you need something, sir? If you’re looking for the updated signature lists for the after school programme, I’ve already turned them in.” 

“None of that.” Now, he’s smiling. He’s always been a good-natured man, but I’ve never seen him look so delighted. “It’s good news for you—and for me! I’m retiring. This will be my last year.” 

Oh? Teachers usually announce this sort of thing at the beginning of the year. “I’m happy for you, sir. Did you just find this out?”

“I’ve been deciding all year. I think it’s the right time. I have a perfect candidate to take my place.” 

He’s not beating around the bush—I know he’s talking about me, but I’m shocked. “Why me?”

“You do a lot for this school, Grimm. I thought of you right away. You will still need to interview, but I’m confident in you.” The headmaster smiles sincerely and holds out his hand for me to shake, so I do. 

“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.” 

He leaves a moment later. 

I’m in shock. This is only my second year at this school, and he wants me to be the headmaster. It’s an honour, but it’s more so a shock than anything else. There are so many better candidates...all have spent countless hours and time at the school. 

I feel the need to tell someone to make it feel...real. 

I call Simon Snow. 

He picks up after a few rings. “Hey, I was actually about to text you. The contractor is starting with his team today and he sent me the 3D blueprint. It’s wicked! I’m doing okay, though. I’m visiting the shop real quick and—”

“I got offered the job of headmaster.” The words still feel incorporeal, but I whisper them. I’m loud enough to cut him off.

Snow goes silent for a moment. “Wait, really?” 

“Why would I lie to you about that?” I sit in my chair and exhale. And then, I realize I’m grinning. “I still have to interview, but he told me that he thinks I’m perfect for the position.” 

The other side of the line is quiet, but I can practically feel the warmth of his smile radiating through the phone. 

“I’m going to bake you a cake. We’ll celebrate and watch a movie or something. Since it’s Friday.”

My heart slams against my ribcage to remind me that it’s still there, even though it’s not at use. “Don’t you dare, Simon Snow. You need to rest. I can pick up a cake.”

“No, seriously. Me and Rosie. You deserve it.” 

My cheeks hurt from smiling so much. 

“Okay, fine. It’s fine. But send me the model. I can’t wait to see it.” 

“Will do. I’ll see you at home, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

I’m not allowed to feel this happy. 

My heart isn’t supposed to feel so full. 

My head isn’t allowed to feel fuzzy. 

But here I am, a(n) (un)living exception. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Right now I'm with family, so I wanted to let you know that I won't be uploading every day this week. HOWEVER, I will upload multiple chapters once I get home! I don't know how many; I might have seven, but I will have an ample amount of Snowbaz for you!
> 
> QotC: How are you feeling about Baz's promotion? 
> 
> I hope you have a lovely day! Don't forget to keep up with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/forcrowleyssake), [Tumblr](https://forcrowleyssake.tumblr.com), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/forcrowleyssake/)!


	11. Chapter 11

**Simon**

It’s been near a month since I’ve last talked to Penny. Well, at least a good chat. Anytime I call, she’s busy and/or doesn’t pick up. Anytime she calls, I’m at work or asleep. Our calls are very infrequent now, and as much as I hate it, I don’t think about it...or her much. It’s not that she’s an out-of-sight-out-of-mind sort of person, but I’m working a job, raising a child, and now hosting a vampire mage in my house until I go back to work so he can take care of me and my child. 

Also, I need to make a cake for him. 

But that aside, I do miss her. I do miss our chats and plans to live together somewhere where no one could touch us. When Agatha left, she offered this as a getaway like she’d had it planned for a long time. Me, her, and Rosie. We could raise her and little animals and farm or something like that, and we would be isolated and happy. 

I think Penny’s always fantasised about sweeping me away and keeping me safe. But back then, we were sure we would die and had no other reasons to live than each other and a little bit of happiness. 

She practically had her bags packed after I told her about Agatha, and I had to talk her down from moving. I think she would’ve if I hadn’t said anything, but she was also falling in love and despite the state I was in, I didn’t want her to lose something she wanted because she felt the need to  _ Save Simon Snow _ . Now, she has a little boy and another kid on the way. And she’s happy. That’s why she’s in America in the first place. 

When I finally have time alone after speaking with my contractor for a few hours, I manage to reach Penny. And she’s not scatterbrained or in the middle of something. She’s there and ready to listen. 

“ _ Listen _ , Simon. I know I’m a terrible friend and aunt. I should make more time for you and schedule times to talk to you, but I’ve been  _ so _ busy. I’m really sorry. I am.” 

Nothing has ever changed between me and Penny. We’ve always been close, even when we’ve been so far. “I’ll just pretend it was a Watford summer or something, Pen.”

“But we’re not kids anymore. And I’m Rosie’s aunt. I’m going to feel bad.” 

I smile. I miss her, and I just want her back home. 

I’m back in my bed again, the lamp on the nightstand turned on. The light in my bedroom is burnt out and if I weren’t supposed to be resting, I’d change the bulb. I haven’t had the time because I’m never in here and I usually only sleep in the room anyway. Nothing else. 

“Please don’t. You didn’t leave me  _ completely _ helpless.”

“The operative word is completely. I shouldn’t have left.” 

Of course, Penny’s going to scrutinise herself. I can see her palming her forehead in my mindseye. 

“No, really. I think I’ve got it under control.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work now?”

“Well, I got hurt so —”

“Nicks and Slick, Simon Snow! I’m coming back right now! Is Rosie in school? Can you—”

“Don’t you dare! Baz is taking care of Rosie and I’m just laying in bed.”

Penny doesn’t speak for a moment. And I realise that I haven’t told her.

“Are we talking about Baz Pitch?” I can’t tell if she’s more intrigued or flabbergasted. “You mean the Baz Pitch that went off the map as soon as the trials were over?”

“I wouldn’t call moving away going off the map.” I rub the back of my neck; I should’ve expected the interrogation. “But yes, I found out that he is my daughter’s gifted and talented teacher. You didn’t meet him on parents’ evening?” 

“She was with you then; I was already out of the country. I only signed her up for the classes at the end of last year and the paperwork didn’t specify his name...or it did? Wait...I think...Dr Grimm...oh, Crowley. He’s not giving you any trouble, is he?”

“Well, he wouldn’t be babysitting her if he was….” 

How do I tell Penny that I see him as a friend at this point? I would say we are, at least….

“So you were going to rely on her teacher to watch her?” I don’t think Penny’s meaning to sound accusatory, but she’s starting to. “If you knew that you would’ve had to do that, you should’ve told me.”

“I actually didn’t know I’d even need him….”

“He hasn’t been doing it the whole time?” 

“Only for a couple of weeks?”

I can almost taste Penny’s sage through the phone. I think she’s casting a million hexes in her mind. “Where was she before?”

“We had a pallet set out for her at work—”

“Simon! You can’t do that!”

“And it’s taken care of!” 

“Your ex-arch-nemesis is babysitting your daughter!”

“He wasn’t our nemesis when we were in a truce.”

“But you also betrayed him. Your voice went away for a week and everything. What if he’s brainwashing her in revenge?” Now, she sounds concerned. I think she’s being serious. 

“It’s not like that with him anymore. He’s...different.” 

“You sound like a female protagonist that’s falling into the manipulative love interest’s clutches. Seriously. You need to think about Rosie here, too.”

“This is what’s best for Rosie, Pen. I don’t know what I need to do to convince you, but instead of reporting me to the sodding DfE, he said he would help me. And now he’s spending the night and I’m going to make him a cake because he got offered a promotion.” 

Am I really defending Baz Pitch from my best friend? 

What I say seems to unload her ammunition, though. And now, she’s less erratic and far more sombre. “He was going to try to place her in a home?” 

“Now, he’s helping me with her. And he’s really good at it. Honestly, I trust her with him; I swear on my life.”

Saying this, comprehending that I said  _ this _ , almost scares me because I don’t understand that I mean it until now. Until the words roll off my tongue. And it’s true. If Penny weren’t an option, I would want Baz to take care of her. He’s not as hands-on as Penny is because I’ve set boundaries with him, but he loves her. He lets her do things like put his hair in pigtails and put a tiara on his head. One day, I came home to see he had sparkly nail varnish sloppily painted onto his fingernails. 

Baz Pitch is not a dad to Rosie, but he certainly is a good caretaker. I trust him with her. He would make the right decisions for her sake. 

Now that I’m thinking about it, I think the magic talk with Rosie might be appropriate for us to have with her tomorrow….

“I’m going to need a little time to digest this all,” Penny finally says. It’s not out of malice. She’s not snarky or the slightest bit cruel. She’s just confused. I am, too. 

“We’re still figuring things out. But he’s good to her.” And me, even when I least expected it. 

“Well...good. I don’t want to see Rosie in that system.”

“She won’t be.” 

We say nothing for a moment. I don’t know if this was a fight or not, but it was certainly a row of sorts. Penelope has a certain knack for thinking she knows what’s best when she doesn’t. Not all of the time. Rosie’s my daughter, and I do what I think is best for her.

“I’ll be home in a couple of weeks,” she says to break the silence. She’s given up on whatever she was trying to convince me of. “I really do miss you. Will you still want me to take care of her once I come back?”

“Baz is a temporary caretaker. Of course. She misses her Auntie.” 

I feel myself smile. I’m sure she’s smiling too because her words carry a certain cadence when she does. “I miss her too. Give her kisses for me, and tell her I love her. And I love you, Si.” 

“I love you, too, Penny.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I had a good time with my family; I got to be an impromptu babysitter for a three and four-year-old and accidentally indoctrinated them with something related to Kpop. I feel bad for my sister-in-law. 
> 
> I was originally going to mass post tomorrow, but I decided to give you three today and three tomorrow!
> 
> So, we finally got a Penny chapter. What are we thinking about this? 
> 
> QotC: What's your favorite part of the story so far? Why? (I know this doesn't have to do with the chapter, but I'm still curious.)
> 
> I hope y'all had a good time during my hiatus! 
> 
> Thank you so much again for kudos and comments and enjoy!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Baz**

I should’ve never returned to my apartment. I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what I’m afraid of, honestly, falling in love with a painfully straight man —the father of one of my students, for Crowley’s sake!—when I know there will be no reciprocation. There never will be. I’m a mad man, really. Off my nut for even caring or allowing myself to fall in headfirst again. But here I am, surely making Snow and Rosie worry that I fucked off. 

Well, I guess I did. And now I’m in my apartment, trying to make myself look like I haven’t been getting ploughed for the last half hour. (And now that I’m here and the act is over, I really wish I hadn’t.) 

As I stare at myself in the mirror, I don’t know what to think. I’ve showered, I’ve shaved, dried my hair. But I can’t wash off the guilt I feel. I can’t scrub it off or the mark on my neck. It’s grey rather than red, but it’s still there. I can still see it and there’s no way I can cover that up without looking suspicious. 

_ You’ve really done it this time, Basilton _ . 

But who cares? Simon will probably just shrug at the sight of it and tell me to say I got hit in the neck or something. (I’m praying to every famous—and infamous—mage that my super-healing powers will come into play before I reach the Salisbury-Snow residence.) He may even get a tad upset over it, not wanting me to open those doors that lead Rosie to ask those questions. 

_ Maybe you did it to make him jealous _ . 

But why  _ would _ he be jealous? 

Simon Snow’s straight. 

Simon Snow’s a father. 

Simon Snow has bigger, badder problems than worrying about the vampire mage that dropped his daughter off and came back to his apartment just to get shagged. 

But he’s baking a cake for me. Simon Snow is going out of his way to congratulate me on something I’m not even assured of. 

I really am an arse for doing this, aren’t I? 

Self-loathing was something I did when I was younger, something I did when I was unsure of myself and my...condition, but I jumped that hurdle. And now it’s blossoming again in the pit of my stomach. For different reasons, but it’s there. I can feel it. 

Even as I see the mark on my neck lighten by the minute. 

It will be gone before I arrive, but the shame won’t be. The anger. 

Forgive me, Simon Snow. 

And fuck you, Lamb. 

I leave the apartment, dressed far too extravagantly for eating cake and watching a movie with Snow and his daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOOO he went back. Yeah. This is gonna be a thing. 
> 
> QotC: What do you think motivates Baz to keep going back when things go well for him? Is it really just because he's trying to get Simon off his brain? How do you think this affects him mentally, even though Simon, according to Baz, is straight? He acts like he may be cheating on Simon. 
> 
> I know the thought of Lamb and Baz is icky, but I still hope you enjoyed!


	13. Chapter 13

**Simon**

Baz drops Rosie off at the house and he takes off after I open the door. I feel myself frown just a bit and look at Rosie, who’s squeezed between my legs into the house. She’s kicking off her shoes when I ask, “Did he say why he’s leaving?”

“He needs to do some things at his house —Daddy, I heard we’re going to make cake!” Rosie clings to my leg and I run a hand through her curls while I take another look out of the door. 

I don’t know why I’m bothered. It might be Penny’s talk earlier. 

_ Or maybe he’s plotting _ , the Watford me nestled in my core says. 

Instead of worrying about it further, I shut the door and drag the Rosie-clad leg all of the way to the kitchen. (This certainly won’t help my back, but I’m not one to disappoint my daughter.)

When Rosie and I bake together, we usually make something...pastry-y. I haven’t made a cake in forever, but becoming a headmaster is good news, especially for someone so young! Baz is only twenty-eight and has a doctorate...Baz is one accomplishment after another, isn’t he? Doctor, almost-headmaster, gifted and talented teacher….

He’s been dealt only aces from what I can tell. Good for him. This cake is well-deserved.

Rosie knows the basic ingredients to make dough, but she’s awaiting my instructions for the cake. 

I didn’t even ask what kind of cake he likes...everyone likes chocolate, right?

So, I give her my instructions. Cocoa powder, flour, sugar, buttermilk. She’s my little baker’s assistant, and since she knows where everything is, she grabs them fast. We have everything we need within minutes and I’m ready to whip up his cake. But I need one thing. 

“Aprons.” Rosie runs to the pantry and opens the door, tugging down our aprons from the hook. I got her one last Christmas—the only thing I could personally afford—and it’s her favourite. It’s also her most used gift. 

“Thank you, Princess.” I take it from her and she pulls up her stool so I can tie her bow; she ties mine after.

We always work well together, especially when we’re baking side by side. She gives me what I need and is pretty good at measuring. (Sometimes, I need to help, but this teaches her fractions.) We’re quick, we get the job done, and within only about 15 minutes, Rosie’s sitting on the counter, licking the remaining batter from the bowl. 

She’s a proper mess after baking. Cocoa in her hair, flour all over her. She’s going to need to scrub down before we do anything tonight, so I take the bowl from her after I photograph her with my phone and set it aside. “Do you know what we’re doing today?” 

“Dr Grimm told me a little.” She’s swinging her legs, so I keep a little distance so she won’t kick me. “We’re celebrating for him, right?” 

“He’s getting a promotion,” I tell her. To help her down from the counter, I take her hand and help her jump down. 

“What does that mean?” 

Her eyes twinkle when she asks questions and I can’t help but smile. I almost sink down to scoop her up into my arms, but I can almost hear Baz screaming about my back (and knees). So, I don’t. But she does climb onto the stool so I can untie her apron. I hand her mine after she slides out of hers.

“He’s going to be the headmaster instead of a gifted and talented teacher next year.” I place my apron in her hand and she slouches. Her eyes are on the ground now. 

“So he’s not going to be my teacher anymore?” 

Damn my bad back. I crouch down anyway and wince a little bit. But she looks at me and she’s pouting like she’s trying to get her way. 

I forgot—gifted and talented teachers stick with their students until they’re out of primary school. Of course she’ll be a little sad. I buck her chin up with my finger and smile at her. “He won’t be your teacher, but he’ll be your headmaster. He’s still looking out for you, just in a different way. Do you understand what I mean?” 

Rosie looks a little less sad, but she shrugs. “I just want him for class.” 

It’s hard to explain these sorts of things to headstrong seven-year-olds. Telling them that a certain position would help her even more. I wonder what Baz would do as a headmaster, anyway. Well, at a Normal school. I’ve had plenty of time to think about what would happen if he’d taken over Watford, but now, I don’t even know. I know he’d make reforms. I used to think he’d undo everything the Mage set in place (and maybe he would have). But now? It doesn’t really matter, does it? He’s teaching at a Normal school. 

I never asked why. I know there’s a reason. No one would just leave the World of Mages without explaining why. 

Rosie gets in the shower and I’m left alone with her clothes. Instead of spelling them clean, I toss them in the laundry and collapse on the couch. Now, I’m just waiting for the cake and Baz. 

Why did he need to go back to his house? 

This shouldn’t be bothering me. I shouldn’t be worrying about this. Why does it even matter if he went to his house—but for what?

And he’s not plotting. 

He’s not. 

The door handle jiggles just as the alarm for the cake goes off, so I attend to the cake before I catch a glimpse of Baz. 

He’s holding a bottle of wine, and he’s dressed like he’s having supper with the queen. The tips of my ears begin to sting, and I cock my head to the side. “You know that we’re watching a movie after, right?” 

Baz walks around the bar that separates the living room from the kitchen and places the bottle of wine on the counter. “If we’re celebrating, why not dress it up? I also ordered some Italian food. I just got what we had at Alice’s.” 

I haven’t seen Baz in a suit in a long time, but I can’t stop staring at it. It’s not single, monochrome colours. It’s covered in flowers—roses, and he’s wearing a pinkish dress shirt. He’s always looked fit in suits, and dressing up. (But he’s also always looked fit dressing down, too. I don’t feel weird admitting it. He’s a nice-looking bloke.) 

“Shut your mouth, Snow. You’re going to catch flies.” 

Well, I guess we have a dress code now. 

“Give me a moment, watch the cake.” 

As soon as I’m in my room, I tear open my wardrobe doors and try to find something formal. Something. But anything that's slightly formal I’ve outgrown. I haven’t had to wear a tie in years. 

Damn Basilton Grimm-Pitch. Of course he’s all dressed up nice. I should’ve thought about that. 

“Snow.” Baz raps his knuckles against the door. “Are you all right?” 

I huff, scanning over my options one more time. 

“Snow, I can dress down if you want me to.” 

“But we should make this fancy. It’s a big deal.” 

Instead of knocking again, he opens the door a crack and peeps his head in. “It was an offer, not a promise. Seriously. I don’t want you to stress out over something so trivial.” 

The wardrobe has no answers for me; everything in there is too small—I should probably donate it. But I feel bad. “It’s still an amazing thing. It’s wicked that you even got the offer.” 

“How about this.” Baz leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. “We can have a pyjama party. We all get in our pyjamas and have a fancy dinner and cake and watch a movie. And when Rosie falls asleep, we can have wine. Does that sound better to you?” 

Rosie peeks her head around Baz’s leg; he jumps a little when she wraps her arms around it. “A pyjama party?”

A pyjama party. 

Baz is back in those silk pyjamas I found him in just this morning and again, I find myself staring at him. He’s all leg and the silk...well, silk does wonders on fit people. I could never wear anything like that. It would cling to every part of me I wouldn’t want visible. 

I’m in a simple tee and some checkered bottoms. Rosie’s in some Disney Princess getup. 

We’re a proper bunch now.

While the cake cools, our food is delivered. Baz takes it and places it on the table, then turns to Rosie. “Napkins and forks?” 

She salutes him and goes off to get what we need. 

At the moment, I’m not needed, so I stand here and watch the scene in front of me. Baz places all of the food out and unravels the foil, takes off lids, he even licks some of the sauce off of his finger. And Rosie helps him. She places the napkins as he tells her to do, and when she’s done, he gives her a high five. 

Then, she tugs on his bottoms and he sinks down so she can tell him a secret. 

Everything before me is...I don’t know. When it’s just me and Rosie, everything’s tip-top. We’re our own little family, and everything feels right. With just her, I mean. 

But when I see her with Baz, with how they interact, with how something feels  _ right _ , I begin to wonder. 

What would it be like if we brought someone else into our family? 

What if I did finally start dating again? Not in the middle of everything right now, but…but once I’ve got my bakery. Once I’m not working tirelessly at a packing plant. 

I don’t know if my heart will let me settle...I don’t know if it will ever let me find someone. But it’s worth the try if it makes Rosie happy. 

She looks so happy with Baz. And all I want is her happiness. 

“It’s time to eat,” Baz tells me, and he’s looking at me extra soft, it almost makes me nauseated. I don’t know what to make of it, so I sit at the table, settling right between Baz and Rosie. 

We don’t talk much, we’re too busy eating. But when we’re closer to being finished with our food, Baz nudges Rosie’s elbow and she looks at him, confused. 

He smiles at her. “You should tell your father about your project.” 

Her eyes light up and she begins to bounce in her chair. Baz and I share a knowing look. 

“We need to make a family tree and I decided to make it an actual tree!” She shoves her food away from herself before getting up from the table. She runs out of the kitchen, then comes back with Baz’s mobile. 

He’s wearing a look that reads, “How did she know where that was?”

She hands it to him and grins. “Show him, please!” 

Baz has a fond smile on his face, like he doesn’t care that his student probably always knows where his mobile is. I wonder if she was the one who made him take a picture of her project, but when I glance over at the screen, I notice he’s scrolling through other pictures as well. Other projects. He finally lands on Rosie’s and holds out his mobile. 

An actual tree. She’s constructing an actual tree, with grass and a big stick and rocks. She has a few pictures drawn out as well, which looks like it might be me, Agatha, and Penny. They’re attached to paper clips. 

“That’s beautiful,” I say, gazing over it again. Her creativity has always astounded me, and I’m proud. I don’t quite have the knack at things like that. I mean, I can use a sword and bake. But that’s about all I’m useful at. I’m glad that she has this type of talent. The type that makes you  _ feel _ . 

“Do you know if they have any art clubs at Watford?” Baz asks while tucking his phone in his pocket. He’s finished as well, putting his fork down. 

“I don’t know...I would’ve thought you would’ve known, honestly. With your siblings.” 

Baz shakes his head. “I don’t...talk to them much. Only at Christmas, really.” 

Why? I almost ask, but when I look at Rosie. The question can be saved for later. 

“Are we done?” I ask, setting down my own fork. Might as well shift towards frosting the cake. I stand up, but Baz takes my arm. 

“Sit down, I’ve got it,” he tells me. 

“I’m not crippled, Baz. We’re supposed to be celebrating you. Let me do this.” I pout to drive my point home and he moves his hand away begrudgingly.

It feels good to win an argument against Baz. I rarely have, if at all, so I’m wearing a satisfied smile while Rosie helps me with the cleaning. 

He sits while we do so, and I think he might be pouting. Over not letting him help? I almost scoff, and Rosie looks between me and Baz. 

“What?” She asks me quietly. 

“Go mess with him. I think he’s being a big baby.” I nudge her slightly in his direction and she smiles at me. Her eyes are gleaming with mischief. 

So, I make the frosting while she bothers him. 

Baz joins us once I’ve got it whipped up and separated into different bags. I’ve already started on rosettes around the base of the cake, and Rosie’s taken to decorating the sides. Baz has free range to do whatever he wants. I hand him a bag, and he takes it. 

Because of how much I’ve practised, I’m able to pipe quickly (even if I’m rusty). Rosie’s taking her time, trying to pipe Baz’s face, and Baz is both watching us and trying to sneakily pipe icing into his mouth. He stops when I look at him and I swear he smiles...just a little bit. 

“You’re gross.” I turn from him to save myself from the sneer, because he still sneers sometimes. An old habit he can’t shake, I’m sure. 

But then, Baz squeezes at least half of the tube into his hand and rubs it across my face. 

Rosie gasps, and Baz grins at me, every bit of his eighteen-year-old self resurfacing. 

(I don’t think he’d do that to me when we were eighteen—he’d probably punch me square in the jaw. But the same energy radiates from what he’s done.) 

Except I’m not mad. I’m laughing, and Rosie’s laughing, and so is Baz.

Regardless, this is war. 

“What was that for?!” I’m laughing, and he’s laughing. 

We’re all laughing, this is ridiculous. 

“For everything!” I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but I wipe the frosting on my face and smear it across his. 

He stutters, stepping back from me. I might've gotten it in his eyes, and his lashes are coated with it. I do feel a bit bad about that, but he hits me back by emptying the bag on my face.

Rosie’s gaping. She’s probably getting a kick out of this, watching everything unravel. But this is a war that she needs to side on. I look down at her and raise a frosting-covered brow. “So, whose side are you on?” 

She gives us both a look, and I know she’s already chosen Baz’s side by the way they grin at each other, so I smear frosting on both of her cheeks. 

“Daddy!”

Baz smears his hands down my shirt and grabs Rosie, running out of the kitchen and I’m left there, gawking. 

I was just betrayed. By my own daughter and her babysitter. 

I can’t believe this. 

**Baz**

Rosie and I have taken refuge in the half bathroom between her room and the locked room. She sat in the bathtub after I scrubbed her face and I’m sitting in front of the door. Before we hid in here, I grabbed one of his tees so he doesn’t get any frosting on my pyjamas. 

Probably not fair, considering I smeared frosting all over the front of his shirt and I’m only going to get another one dirty. But I don’t play fair with him. 

“I know where you are!” He yells from behind the door and Rosie giggles; I put my finger up to my lips and bend down to peer through the crack between the door and the floor. His feet are right there. 

“You can make it easy, or I can pick the lock. Which one do you—oop.”

Rosie gets out of the tub and walks over as a  _ pop _ then a swooping sound fills the house. I haven’t any idea of what it is, but when Rosie opens the door, I find a fully-winged Simon Snow. 

Instead of paying attention to his wings, he picks Rosie up and tosses her over his shoulder, taking off. She squeals, kicking her legs about and I watch fondly.

**Simon**

We go about this for quite some time; Baz and I take turns stealing Rosie away, smearing frosting all over each other. The cake is completely forgotten by the end of the night and Rosie crashes before we can watch a movie. The adrenaline coursing through her wore off. She falls asleep on the floor in front of the telly, covered in frosting and with a giant smile on her face. 

She’s had a good day...a really good day. I think we all have for the most part. We’re settling down now, Baz and I sitting on the couch.

“Does she fall asleep like that usually?” I ask him. We’re going to have to start cleaning in a minute. And put her to bed. 

“Like what?” He bends a bit to get a better look at her. (He’s smiling, still. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile so much.) 

“Smiling,” I say. And then I’m about to get up, but Baz pushes me back down onto the sofa and scoops her up. She nestles her head in his chest and sighs. 

We both cleaned ourselves up earlier, so he rolls his eyes when he notices the residue of frosting coating a shirt of mine that he’s pulled on. 

“You wanted to,” I remind him. 

“I know.” And he takes her to her bedroom after grabbing a cloth from the linen closet. 

While Baz puts her to bed, I begin to clean the frosting from the floor. I don’t have much to clean in the kitchen because I clean as I go, but I throw away the frosting bags. I clean the tips and set them out to dry, and then I turn to the cake. 

It’s seen better days, but it’s still edible. And it’ll taste good with the wine. 

I cut us each a slice, grab the wine and a corkscrew, and take it to the living room. 

Baz meets me a few moments later. He’s wiping himself off with a towel, now shirtless, and sits down with a flourish—he kicks his legs back and heaves a sigh. 

He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, so I take this time to allow myself to follow the curves and dips of his body. 

From the hairline, to the bump of his nose, down to his chin. Chin to neck. Neck to chest, and downward. I spend most of the time looking at his chest. I still can’t believe that he can grow a beard. And chest hair. I haven’t been able to. Nothing  _ good _ at least. It’s stayed at that “pubescent” stage. Scraggly, Mage-y. I used to say that I would keep a moustache even if it looked like the Mage’s, but I changed my mind. 

“I can feel you staring at me,” Baz says after a few minutes and I immediately look away from him. Of course he can. “Don’t think I’m plotting, do you?” 

“What would you be plotting, anyway?” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck. It’s flushed with warmth and I can feel my face heat up as well. 

“Your downfall.” He’s smiling, I can tell by his voice. 

I turn back to him. Now, he’s looking at me. And it’s soft again. It makes my chest constrict...I don’t know what I’m feeling. 

“Well, I...uh, we can have the cake now. And the wine. This didn’t exactly go as planned….” 

“When does it ever with you?” He sits up and takes a piece, and he hands me mine. And then, he opens the wine and sips straight from the bottle. He hands it to me after. 

“You know, fair enough.” I take a sip. 

“She does, by the way.” He takes the bottle from me. 

“Does what?”

He smiles. “She falls asleep smiling.”

We eat our cake and pass the bottle of wine between us until the cake is gone and there’s not enough of it to soak up all of the wine sloshing around in our bellies. I don’t drink much, so I can feel it go to my head and I’m tipsy by the time we’re finished with the bottle. Baz isn’t any better. He might be a little worse because he’s laughing. Quietly, but he is. 

“What are you laughing about right now?” I ask him, and he rolls away from me. I grab his arm and roll him back over, but he rolls into my arms instead and continues to laugh into my armpit (which he nestles his head into). 

I’ve only seen Baz drunk once in my life, and though this time it’s a little bit more amusing, there's still an underlying melancholy. 

“Don’t I smell? I haven’t put in any deodorant since this morning.” I nudge him off me and try to stand, but he pulls me back down and nestles his face in my neck. 

I freeze. I know Baz doesn’t drink human blood, but it’s still right there. He can still plunge his fangs in my neck. I shiver at the thought and I think he can tell I’m uncomfortable. 

“I would never bite you,” he slurs, but he puts some distance between us. 

I didn’t want him to do...that. But I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. I think I might’ve, because now he’s slouched over, looking at the floor. His hair’s falling in his face, and his body language is all closed off. 

Something’s bothering him, but I don’t quite know what. 

So, I ask him. 

“Is there something you want to talk about?” 

“Why would you want to know?” He’s still slurring, but I think he’s starting to get his head back. And that attitude that I know so well. The defences in me build up, too. My shoulders roll forward, and I almost growl. But I stop myself. 

Just because Baz might retreat into that mindset does not mean I have to. 

“It’s clearly bothering you.” 

“And it doesn’t concern you.” He looks at me, and now I know he is crying. 

I scoot a bit closer and push some hair out of his eyes. He pushes me away. “Don’t.” 

So, I don’t. I sit on the other end of the couch and growl under my breath. “How am I supposed to help you if you don’t want any?” 

“You’re making it worse by pushing. Just stop.” 

Maybe it’s time to go to bed. Let him sleep this...this funk off. I’m sure it’s just the alcohol, or I hope….

Our friendship—I’d call it that—shouldn’t be ruined over a bottle of wine. I’ll give him time to sleep it off. 

“Good night, Baz.” I stand up and for the first time tonight, he doesn’t stop me. He stays there, curled up, and doesn’t acknowledge me. Okay. He’s good at that. 

Before I go to bed, I recycle the wine bottle, load the plates in the dishwasher, and pack the cake up. We can have the rest another night. We can actually celebrate when he gets the job.

I walk to my bedroom, dragging one foot behind the other, but just as I walk through my door, I turn back around and stumble back out to the living room. Baz hasn’t moved. 

“Let’s get coffee again tomorrow. There’s...some things I want to talk about.” 

Baz nods. 

I go to bed, wondering if I did something wrong. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. This is my favorite chapter I've written so far. It's just so fun!!! And just how they're all interacting like a family and. God. This one's my favorite chapter. The latter part of the chapter though :(
> 
> QotC: I'm going to have two this time. 1. How long do you think it will take Simon to figure out that he has a crush on Baz? Because he clearly does. 2. Do you think Baz would have kissed Simon if Simon didn't freeze like he did?
> 
> Okay, enough updates for today. I'll hit you tomorrow with another 3!!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Baz**

After legging it to my apartment and going out to buy some groceries for the Salisbury-Snows, I come back with eggs, ham, crumpets, and ingredients to make hollandaise sauce. 

After last night, after some red wine (which I need to remind myself to drink less of—white’s better anyway and I usually hate being drunk), I messed up. Kind of. I don’t know what I messed up  _ on _ exactly, but I wasn’t too kind. 

(Even though it’s never been in my nature to be kind to Snow. But I was feeling extra soft, and then incredibly guilty, even though I visited Lamb again in the wee hours of the morning.) 

(I regretted it again. Of course I did.) 

I pushed Simon Snow away like I always had, and if I can’t ever find my way into his life as I would like it to be, it’s okay—I guess—to remain as friends. 

I’ve become far too attached to this little family now to want to go back to being strangers. Rosie’s a sweetheart with her father’s blood coursing through her and Simon...he’s Simon. 

He will always be the man I love...I think. I said I would never love him again, and I tried to never love him again. I don’t want to love him again. 

But was there ever an “again”? Or have I always loved him, even when I forced him out of my mind?

I tried not to think about him during my college years. I was already writing papers, taking exams, and babysitting so much I was practically a father figure to the kid. 

(He’s since been adopted by his stepfather. Good man.) 

Despite trying to use out-of-sight-out-of-mind techniques, I guess it never worked. 

I just never thought I would meet Simon Snow again. 

And I’ll settle. I’ll be his friend. I think he thinks of me as a friend, too. 

It’s a surprise to see how far we’ve come, honestly. Ten years ago, I thought I was going to die at the hands of this man. Now, we’re playing capture the flag with his daughter. 

My family will be gobsmacked when I give them a basic lowdown of what I’ve done the past year. 

But right now, this breakfast is my way of apologising. There’s no doubt that Snow will stumble out here to make Rosie breakfast, but I’m not going to let him help me one bit. This is for them. 

This is performative, ultimately, for me. To apologise for the guilt I feel. And he thinks I’m doing it to apologise for being bitter (or I would assume so).

Eggs benedict is something Rosie may not like. As far as I know, she’ll eat almost anything. Like a goat. Or her dad. She’s a vacuum, and never too picky. So I’m hoping she’ll like it. (I saw the recipe on a cooking show. Apparently Gordon Ramsay makes a mean dish of this.) 

This is something I pull out when I want to impress someone, and...well. I’m trying to impress them. 

It takes a lot of arm work, though. At least with the hollandaise. You have to stir it until it thickens, but if you do it too long, it turns more into a mayonnaise. (That’s my issue, but I’ve practised enough that it’s no longer an issue.) 

In all, breakfast prepping takes a good thirty minutes. And I’m surprised that by the time I have the table set—forks, knives, tea for us and milk for Rosie—and all of our dishes on the table, Simon still isn’t up. 

I know it’s a Saturday, but it’s already nine in the morning. That’s when they usually eat breakfast. 

But we also had our share of wine last night. 

So, it’s now my mission to wake the sleeping beauties. 

When I open the door, light from the kitchen filters through slightly so I can see where I’m going. (I can see in the dark, but it would disorient anyone to walk from a brightly lit room into a pitch-black one.) 

I follow the light up to the bed and find Simon and Rosie, and I need a moment. 

Simon has his arms wrapped around her, not so tight to restrict her, but not so loose that she could slip away from him. She has her face nuzzled in his chest, and fistfuls of tee shirt are bunched up in each hand. 

If I knew they weren’t asleep, it looks like they haven’t seen each other in a long time and are afraid to let go of each other. And I’m sure they are. 

With any power I have, I’ll keep it from happening. I’d do anything to keep these two together, no matter what the consequence. I don’t know what would happen if there was ever an instance where the two were separated. I don’t want to think about it either. 

As much as I don’t want to wake the two up—they look peaceful, I don’t want to take that from them—she has ballet, and Snow and I have a coffee date. 

At least, I wish it was a  _ date _ . It isn’t. Or he hasn’t said it was. 

Why am I kidding myself? Why am I doing this to myself? 

My internal monologue is beginning to clog up my brain, so I finally reach out and nudge Snow’s shoulder. He groans, and those blue eyes open. 

He smiles when he sees me, and my breath stutters. 

“I can smell that you cooked,” he rasps and sits up. Rosie sinks down to the mattress, still fast asleep. 

While Snow stretches, one of his wings expands out and it’s a sight to be seen. Red. Leathery. Like a dragon's. I almost reach out and touch it. 

“I felt bad about how I treated you last night. I thought it would be...nice.” I find myself a seat right under Rosie’s feet and Simon leans forward. 

I can feel my heart hitch and quiver with nervousness. I don’t like how he has control of my organs like that. I almost have to lean away, but I don’t. 

“I don’t think we should drink red wine again,” Simon says, and I have to agree. “I usually don’t drink anything other than cider, and even then, I never have the time to.” 

“I would like to introduce you to champagne or a white wine, then. And we shouldn’t be barbarians and drink it out of the bottle...and finish it.” 

Snow’s smile grows and it’s wild, and I have to look away. 

Rosie’s up and at ‘em a few minutes later, and she looks at her father after taking a glance at her plate. He’s already scarfed down half of his meal, the troglodyte.

“What is it?” She’s trying her best not to sound rude, which I appreciate, but I hope she tastes it. 

“It’s eggs and special sauce,” says Snow, trying to use his manners, but he stuffs his mouth with another forkful. “You’ll like it.”

Some things never change. 

Rosie gives one more apprehensive glance at the Eggs Benedict before trying to cut into it. 

I’d have to admit, it’s somewhat hard to even for adults, so I take her plate and cut it up into bite size pieces to make it easier. (This embarrasses me just a bit that I hadn’t thought of it earlier, but when I catch a glimpse of Snow smiling at us fondly, a zip of excitement rips through me.) I sit up a little straighter and begin on my own breakfast. 

Thankfully, my meal did not go to waste. Rosie makes sure that we know she likes it because she lets out a loud, “Mmm! This is good!” and continues to eat it. I only gave her one half of the crumpet, but when she says she wants more, I allow her to eat half of my second. (Snow already ate his, and I knew he’d still be hungry if he did give half away.) 

The couple of hours of free time before Rosie’s ballet classes are spent by watching some godforsaken Nickelodeon show while Snow makes some phone calls to his contractor and a few other people needed for his bakery. Nothing sounds wrong, and he sounds breezy as opposed to uptight. (Not that he has been...most of the time, but I’ve never seen the idea of work to him seem fun; this seems like fun to him.)

We each take our time to get dressed and ready, Rosie closest to when we need to leave. She puts on her little leotard and a jacket over it (as well as joggers—it’s getting nippy) and we’re just about ready to go, but I want to do one thing desperately. 

“Hey.” I grab Simon’s arm as he’s about to walk into the living room where Rosie’s watching telly and he turns to me, confused. 

“Something wrong?” And when he says it, he rubs the back of his neck and turns away. He starts to mumble, “Neverm—”

“Don’t let my last night’s arseholery take away from the acquaintanceship we’ve developed, now. I made you breakfast to make up for it. Come on.” I hope I don’t sound desperate because if Snow’s about to blow me off for last night….

He won’t. I don’t think. 

“Ask me what’s wrong, Snow.” 

Simon looks at me again, half confused and half amused. He has a goofy looking smile on his face, but it’s still lovely. “What’s wrong?”

“I just wanted to ask if I could put stardust in her hair, that’s all.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the wall. 

The look on Simon’s face dispels into disbelief. “That’s all?”

“Yes. Can I?” 

He rolls his eyes with a mumbled, “Go ahead,” and now I feel a little too giddy as we walk to my car. Rosie doesn’t know she has the stardust in her hair, but she will when the compliments start rolling in. It suits those bronze locks well. 

  
  


Simon has me take Rosie into the studio again. He says it’s for the practice, but I only have to bring her in a couple of more times before Bunce comes back from America. I know he just doesn’t want to deal with those dance mums. (They’re beasts—monsters.  _ Worse _ than vampires. They poke and prod at you with long, varnished nails and one woman tried to plait my hair— _ plait it _ —but Rosie found me before she could. This was last week. Now, I’m not safe.)

I  _ have _ to go in to sign her in, though. With the secretary. She’s just as bad, a winking mess with a skunk’s stripe up her dark hair. Not like Aunt Fiona’s. This is intentional. And horrendous. 

After just a couple of minutes in the studio, I’m a mess. My hair’s fussed up again and a woman tried to slip her number into my pocket. Snow’s still in the car, so I open up his door and glare at him. “I see you’re still trying to end me. I thought we were past this when you killed the humdrum.” 

The prat grins, and I sneer at him. 

“You know, sometimes I forget you’re _Baz_ _Pitch_. But then I send you to do something you don’t want to and I’m reminded.” He nudges me aside so he can clobber out of the car. 

“Does that happen every time I go in there?” I follow Simon to the cafe, locking my car before we duck into it. 

“I’ve been taking Rosie for four years and I still get frisked.” And I don’t blame those women. If someone like Simon Snow walked into my clutches, I wouldn’t want to let go, either. 

Especially today. He looks good today. 

Mind you, it’s the “Simon Snow” definition of good. Put together. He has jeans— _ jeans that accentuate his ass _ —and a tee on. Something simple, but he also has a coat on. Longer, kind of like mine. 

I wish I could tell him that I liked what he was wearing and that he looked good. But I can’t—I need to remember my place. As a friend at the most. 

Snow buys our drinks, and I almost scold him, but I don’t. If he can pay for it, I don’t want to keep him from doing so. It’s the same thing we got last time, but next time we come here, I want us to get pumpkin mocha breves—a little invention of mine. I noticed that they had seasonal drinks, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they had the ingredients. 

The same spot we sat last time is open, so it seems entirely appropriate for us to sit there. 

Once we get our drinks, Simon speaks. 

This must’ve been on his mind for a long time, something he’s tried to figure out himself. Because when he asks, it’s like he’s relieved with each word he says. “Why did you decide to become a Normal teacher?” 

I blanket us in the spell that keeps eavesdroppers away and cup my mug between my hands. Honestly, I was surprised it wasn’t the first thing he asked me. But we’ve grown. We’ve changed. He’s become tactful (in some ways). 

At first, I didn’t know why I took steps toward becoming a Normal teacher, either. 

But then, it made sense. In chunks. I didn’t start out knowing I wanted to teach. 

After all that had happened—the Mage, my mum, the humdrum, the World of Mages in general—I needed an escape. And I wanted to be able to pick my mind apart without therapy. (Not my thing.) I became a psychology major. And then, I found myself also minoring in education. It was all a blur in some aspects—I just did what I needed to do—but there were things, people, that drove me in directions that led me here. 

I reestablish my loosening grip on the mug. “When I was in college, one of my colleagues had a child. Just a few months old, but she couldn’t afford child care. Her baby’s father wouldn’t watch him. She had to work after school, and she was beginning to grow desperate. So, I stepped in. 

“The first couple of times she brought the little’un in, he annoyed the living hell out of me. Crying, whining...but I saw how desperate she was. And how even if she bounced the baby, he wouldn’t be quiet. She had to leave in the middle of the class to change his nappy. From there, I decided that she needed help. No one else would. So...I did. I babysat him. We would take turns with nappy changing in class.” It was also when I realized that...I did want a child someday. I don’t know if it will ever happen, but it’s a wish. Working with children is a good substitute in this way. Temporary parent. “I basically raised him with her. He was Rosie’s age when his mum got married and he was adopted….

“That helped me realise that I wanted to work with children. My major’s focus shifted to education. Being able to understand them in a cognitive way. And I knew I wanted to help Normal children when I saw that they don’t have it like mages—like we—do. You,” I wave at Snow, “are an unfortunate exception. But most mage children are loved and cherished. Family can be dysfunctional, naturally, but we’re taken care of. Normals have a messy time and their kids get the brunt of it. So, I wanted to be a good role model for children who might not have them. Or have struggling parents. Or have foster parents or none at all.” 

Simon needs a moment to digest all of the information I give him, so I sit back, take a sip of my coffee, and look around. 

This is a nice little cafe. Pretty vacant a lot of the time (or as many times as we’ve come here). Bookshelves, chaise lounges. A college hangout, I’m sure. 

“Why didn’t you ever...marry her, Baz?” he asks after a couple of minutes and I deadpan.  _ That’s _ the first question he asks after I share my heart and soul about how I became a Normal teacher? “No, I’m being serious. It sounds like you care a lot about her.” 

Does he hear himself? 

“I don’t feel that way about her.” Never women. No women. I’m hopelessly queer—but...do I tell him? 

“Not after all that time?” 

I know it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Even after my father’s adamant disapproval. Everyone knows, though. Just...not him. Or my children. (They don’t know my personal life.) 

“Not ever. I don’t feel that way about her. Or women.” 

I say it before I realise and there's no way to go back. Simon Snow knows I'm gay, and there are many things he could do with that information. But...he'd never do that, right?

Simon says nothing, and I don't want to look up at him. I know— _ I know _ —that there’s nothing wrong with who I am and what I am, but I always find myself tensing up when I admit my sexuality. 

But...this...Simon and Rosie. I hope this doesn’t change the dynamic we have. It’s right. Everything is right with this and us. 

“Baz.” 

He takes my wrist and I pull it away, but I stop myself from glaring at him. His lip pouts a bit and I almost look away again, but he takes my wrist. “Don’t look away from me.” 

“If you’re going to be cruel—”

“I’m not going to be cruel. I just wanted to let you know that I don’t care.” 

I know he means that kind-heartedly, so I smile. Just a little. 

“Really, though. But when you were going after Agatha….”

_ I was going after you, Simon Snow _ .

“Get under your skin. No other reason.” I hope I don’t sound like I’m lying; I sip on my coffee to keep from saying anything else. 

But he scopes me out, like he’s trying to unpack me and my words. I close off again. Mentally. He won’t know my feelings for him, even though it’s screaming at him in the face. 

**Simon**

Well. 

I don’t know why I didn’t expect that, but I guess it’s because he used to ogle Agatha. And try to woo her. 

But he wasn’t. 

He did it just to bother me. 

I don’t know if I believe him entirely. Well, the gay bit, okay. But...Agatha. Me. I don’t know what to think about it all. Everything he’s told me today is a lot. Everything he’s done. This is why I don’t like thinking and prefer doing. This is why I turn to Penny for the plans for me to execute. 

So, I guess I need to shut it off. Even if we do have a few more things we need to discuss. Like magic. And Rosie. We can change the subject now. I can tell Baz is uncomfortable. He shifts in his seat and keeps looking away. 

I clear my throat. “So...uh. I think we should tell Rosie about you. And your magic.” 

The worry that laced Baz’s gaze softens and turns into either relief or excitement. Or maybe a variation of both. “When should we tell her? Today?” 

“Would you rather do it at Alice’s or at home?” 

Baz’s expression softens further, but he looks away before I can figure him out. 

I feel nauseous, though. And kind of dizzy. Well, not dizzy. Not lightheaded. I don’t know what to call it, but it’s a feeling I haven’t felt in so long, I can’t quite put my finger on what it could be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we talk about how oblivious Simon is for a minute? 
> 
> Also, It's pride month. Like I know it has been for several days now, but here's a coming out chapter! 
> 
> QotC: What do you think Baz's coming out has in store for him? Do you think Simon will start to understand? And do you think Simon's ignorance of his feelings reflects in his actions with Baz, or do you think he's just that thick? 
> 
> #ProtectObliviousSimon
> 
> I'll update the other two chapter later! I woke up early and wanted to post this but I'm about to fall asleep again XD
> 
> Enjoy!


	15. Chapter 15

**Simon**

We decide to buy takeout from Alice’s because when speaking of magic, it is very important not to let Normals know about it. 

Magic  _ can’t  _ be used against us—or it can, but mages don’t want Normals to have that power over us. I don’t think Alice would ever do so, but there were a few people eating inside. Even with Baz’s little charm that does numbers for private conversation, he said, and I agreed, that it would be safer to have this conversation at home. 

“Too bad you can’t stay,” Alice says while handing me bags of food. She looks a little saddened by this, but I smile at her to try and make up for it. This is breaking tradition. At least in the aspect of eating  _ at _ Alice’s. We’re still eating it. 

Rosie and Baz are standing outside still waiting for me when I walk out and I catch them in the middle of a hand game that Baz miraculously knows. He’s good at it, too. A good match for Rosie. I never really got those hand games and I always forget them when she wants to play them again. 

Baz on the other hand….

Rosie gives a final flourish to the hand game they’re finishing and runs over to me, bouncing about, just to take a look in the bags. They’re all boxed up like they were yesterday, so she can’t see but it’s the same order we always get. 

“Did you see any new people?” she asks me, and I shake my head. No one we haven’t seen before. She looks around me and into the window anyway and shrugs her shoulders. 

She walks back to Baz and high fives him before we make our way to his car. 

Something in Baz seems a little different while we drive home. He’s quiet and a little twitchy. He makes sure not to look at me, and when I try to catch his eye, he’s either focused on the road or glancing at Rosie through the mirror. 

I wonder if it’s the gay thing. 

Right after he told me, I told  _ him _ that I didn’t care. I don’t! He just likes blokes. There’s nothing wrong with that. 

Maybe I pushed him again. I would ask him, but Rosie’s in the back, watching something on my phone…. 

She’s distracted. 

Maybe this  _ could _ be a good time. 

“Are you...are you okay?” I rest my arm in the console between us and look at him. 

He glances at me in his peripheral while turning onto another street. “I am.” 

“Baz….”

He sighs. “I am. I will be. I don’t just tell people that information every day. It still throws me off. I just need a moment to recalibrate and I’ll be okay.”

I settle back into my seat. I still think there might be more to it. “I mean it when I say I don’t care—”

“I  _ know _ , Simon. I know. I believe you. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He’s using his teacher's voice with me, and it’s annoying me. He’s holding me at bay like I’m a bleeding child. We’re the same age. I almost growl at him, to tell me what’s the matter. He said he wouldn’t close up again, but here he is! Closing up again!

Instead, I huff. I need to keep my head on with Rosie in the backseat. As much as I want to pick Baz’s brain apart. 

When we get out of the car, he seems to be in a somewhat better headspace. He’s not as broody as he was, but there’s still  _ something _ behind his eyes. His dead, grey eyes. 

But he’s not really dead, is he? He’s right here in front of me now. Tangible. I could reach out and touch him and he would swat my hand away. 

I wonder if he’s going to live forever.

Rosie’s already in the house and we’re still standing by the car. I guess Baz gave her his keys. He’s standing in front of me, hands in his pockets. I could almost sit on the bonnet of the car, but he would hex my arse off for doing that probably. So I put my hands in my pockets, too. To do something with them.

“I don’t want you to tell anyone. Not Bunce. Not Rosie not...not anyone you talk to, okay?” Baz rakes his fingers through his hair and looks away from me, nostrils flared. I don’t know what in Merlin’s name is riling him up, so I put my hands on his shoulders. 

“Baz. Calm down.” 

He’s still trying to hold himself back...keep himself calm. I don’t know what’s going on. I’ve never seen him worked up like  _ this _ . He keeps his cool. I’ve never seen him burst into flames and he might as well at the moment. 

“Do you need a moment? You can...we can talk to Rosie later. Or if you want me to tell her by myself….” Maybe this is a side effect of being around your ex-enemy for too long. 

After a couple of moments with no reply and far-off gazing, Baz shrugs my hands off his shoulders. “I don’t want to leave you when you need me.” 

“I’m still on break. I can handle her. I’m her dad, remember?” 

Baz nods curtly. “I want to be there when we talk about my magic.” 

“Of course.” But I wanted to give him the option. 

“I just need...maybe about an hour." Baz shakes his head at himself. "I’m sorry—we have food. I—will you be able to take her to therapy or do you need me to? We can eat and tell her, and then I’ll need to go home.” 

I don’t know what...I don’t know...but something’s shifted between us. I’m staring at him and he’s looking at me...and I don’t know why, but it’s like he’s looking at me with new eyes. But there’s almost something crazed and animalistic there, too. 

Baz Pitch isn’t a monster, I decided, when he never ate me. And when I found out he can eat human blood without Turning or killing them but consumes animal blood anyway. But that look he’s giving me now...it’s like the devilish side of him is lingering. 

“Are you thirsty?” 

“Crowley, no, Snow!” Baz finally walks towards the door and I follow him, stepping on the back of his shoes a couple of times. “I just...I need a detox.” 

“From me?” 

Baz stops again. He doesn’t say anything for a moment. I think he’s snapped because he says, “From everything.” 

So much of my consciousness pushes me towards comforting him. Giving him a hug. Telling him things will be all right. Saying I’m sorry for...for pushing him into doing something he doesn’t want to. For telling me something private he didn’t want me to know. 

But I don’t. And he switches into his “babysitter” persona when we find Rosie sitting in the kitchen. 

There are so many things I want to say. So many of them would turn this conversation into a yelling match and I almost want that—I almost want that with him so I can get some sort of gauge of what he’s feeling. That's what used to be normal to me. But brown eyes, bronze hair, and freckles stop me. 

I’m not going to show Rosie that side of me. Not once have I ever stooped that low in front of her and I’m not going to start now. I’ve grown from that. 

Baz does a good job of pretending that things aren’t wrong. I’m sure it’s from years of practise and mommy issues, but I’m beginning to see through it now. Rosie hasn’t known Baz long enough to know that there’s a difference. But there is. He can put on droll and boring. And informative. He can put on those faces, but I see through him. Not ever completely. But enough. 

It doesn’t really matter at the moment, though, does it? 

Nothing will be accomplished from whatever...fight this is. It’s not really a fight. Is it? Bickering. Me wanting more than he will give. An argument. We’re not yelling. 

And even after...that, Baz is setting the table up. Rosie’s helping him with the cutlery. I know I should help, too. So I grab us some drinks. All water except Rosie. She loves herself some milk. 

We eat at first. Chew. Swallow. I’m finished before them and am working on my second roll when Baz puts his fork down. He clears his throat and captures Rosie’s attention. He smiles at her and she smiles back (close-mouthed because she’s still chewing). 

“There’s something I wanted to tell you and your father and I decided that it would be good to tell you today,” he starts, and I think he’s nervous again. He pulls at the collar of his shirt—why? He’s just telling another mage that he’s one as well. 

Rosie looks at him incredulously and then at me, just as confused. She doesn’t know what to say or do, so she takes another bite of her food and nods. 

“Did you notice the glitter in your hair earlier?”

The question sends Rosie’s hand flying up to her bun and she nods feverishly. She swallows before saying, “I want it in my hair every day! I look like a princess!” 

Whatever tension between Baz and I has defused enough that we can share a fond glance before refocusing our attention. 

“Do you know how it got there?” I ask, and she shakes her head no. 

“Well.” Baz inhales and pulls out his ivory hilted wand and puts it on the table in front of her. He exhales when she picks it up. 

“Daddy has a wand, too,” Rosie says, inspecting it. Both Baz and I reach over when she points the tip to her face and she jumps back a little in surprise but gets the message. She takes a good few minutes inspecting it. “And Aunt Penny has a ring.” 

“You remember when we said we went to school together, right?” I ask her while Baz takes his wand and places it next to his fork. 

Rosie nods again. “Yeah. Am I going to go to that school?”

“Eventually, Princess. If you want to.” 

I can hear Baz  _ and  _ Penny screaming, “As she  _ should _ ,” in unison. 

“It’s a school where you learn how to use your magic,” Baz says. “Your father, aunt, and I went there because we’re mages. And you are as well.”

Of course, Rosie knows this about herself. She can do a few spells, but we’re still looking for a good conductor for her to use. I’m thinking that one of my grandmother's artefacts may work, but Penny and I haven’t picked through her heirlooms yet. We need to sometime soon. (Rosie usually just uses my wand if she wants to try something.) 

But Rosie’s surprised when Baz introduces himself as a magician. She pats the stardust on her head and whispers, “You did the glitter….”

“I did.” Baz is smiling again and looks a lot more...maskless. He’s settling. Good. “I can teach you the spell later. I want to know what spells you know now so we can practise them tomorrow. So, I have a little homework for you...and your father.” 

“Oh?” I quirk a brow. 

“I just want the spells she knows, what you can teach her, and what Bunce  _ has _ taught her. I don’t want to overlap areas where you and Bunce have already crossed. Unless she needs extra practise.” He turns back to Rosie. “Do you have any questions for me? You can ask me later, of course. But at the moment?” 

At first, Rosie shakes her head and Baz is about to go into not mentioning this to Normals—typical procedure—but then, a giant, mischievous grin crosses her face and she looks directly at me. 

“Can you make me and Daddy match?” She points to her hair and I rub my forehead. Not that I mind; I don’t. But I should’ve seen this coming. “ _ But _ you need to match, too!”

Baz widens his eyes, but the look melts into that of humour. He glances at me and shrugs; so do I. We all wore pyjamas the other night and Baz took to wearing one of my tees at one point. I have no qualms with matching again. 

But of course, Baz would not be Baz if he didn’t make it a scene. He makes sure to roll his eyes extra hard before pointing his wand at my head. I almost duck, but then I remember it’s only going to cover me in stardust. 

“ **_Drops of Jupiter_ ** .” 

Rosie claps her hands when a light dusting of stardust nestles in the strands of my hair. I rake my fingers through a few times and look at my hands. It all stayed in my hair. 

“I’m surprised those lyrics are still strong enough,” I admit. Songs, Vines, and colloquialisms don’t usually stick. The last thing I expected to work was an American song from 2001. 

Baz does it to himself as well before putting his wand away. The stardust does his raven hair justice. 

“It’s good for one thing.” He stands, then winks at Rosie. “Making little girls happy.” 

Before he leaves, Baz does all of the dishes, and he packs his clothes...but he’s doing it slowly. Rosie’s back to watching the telly...kind of, but she’s watching him, too. She looks kind of sad. 

Just before he zips up his bag, Rosie asks, “Where are you going?”

And he looks at her with an expression reserved for finding out bad news—I don’t quite know what to think of it. 

He zips his bag and sits on the arm of the sofa. Rosie’s not supposed to do that, but something about how Baz looks doing it keeps me from telling him off. I just watch him from the kitchen, curious how he’s going to reply. 

“I’m going to go back to my house for the night, but I’ll see you tomorrow when your father has to go back to work. Okay? I’ll be back.” Baz pushes himself off the sofa and paces over to her, crouching down so he can be closer to her height. He holds out his pinky for her. “I don’t make pinky swears unless I mean them.” 

Rosie furrows her brows as she stares at his hand, but when she looks at him, she seems a bit more reassured. So, she hooks her pinky with his. When he pulls his hand away, he ruffles his hand through her now loose curls and stands, grabbing his bag. Then, he turns to me. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow. I know we’ve had a kind of busy weekend, but rest your back when you can.” 

Baz leaves before I can respond, and it’s like all of the air left with him. Rosie and I stare at each other for a minute, and then she runs up to me and buries her face in my tummy. 

To soothe her, I run my fingers through her curls and look at the front door. My mind is filled with white noise. It almost hurts my ears. 

“I wish he could stay longer,” Rosie whispers….

And I think I might agree with her. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Baz**

The first few times Lamb and I came together in an intimate way, we spent hours after talking about things. Anything. The weather. His agendas for Las Vegas. What my life was like in the UK (this was before I went back home). He told me how good I was, how beautiful. He would run his fingers over my stomach, his lips ghosting over every square inch of my body. Those were the only times he saved those eyes for me for a long enough time to secure me under his wing. 

It’s why I never tried to run away from him when times were tough. 

At first, it did feel good. I thought I was good for...someone. Something. 

Lamb made me feel heard, then. He made me feel like I was invincible. I understood myself for once, but now, eight years later, I feel more unsure of myself—every action, every touch, every look—than I ever have. 

It’s all just the same now. We’re tangled in bedsheets and the lights are off. My head isn’t here in this room but with Simon Snow in the kitchen. Frosting. Laughter. Family. 

Even though I’m not a part of theirs, I’ve never felt closer to truly understanding what family was until a night ago. 

Maybe that’s why I set up community as an overarching theme for the year. So I can take notes on what family’s  _ supposed _ to look like. 

But I’m nowhere near it now. Not with the King of Vampires in my bed and naked next to me. His nose is nuzzled in my neck and I think he’d bite me again if he could. To mark me as his. I don’t like to think about it. 

“Why are you all glittery?” Lamb asks me, and his hot breath on my ear makes me shiver. “We’re not the Cullens.”

“The girl I’m babysitting wanted me to. I wasn’t going to tell her no.” I don’t look at him. I can’t look at him. I’ll probably throw up if I do. My stomach is already knotted up with guilt and shame.

Lamb props himself on his elbow and I can see his broad grin in my peripheral. I turn the other way. “She’s got you around her finger, doesn’t she?”

More like her father, but she brought us together again. I shrug.

“Basilton, having children is useless for us. They outgrow us, they die without us. We,” he grabs my arm so tight I know I can’t pull away from him, “are the only people that have got each other in the long run. You can’t get attached to Bleeders.” 

I believe him because he knows what he’s talking about. He’s old as dirt. He knows his way around. I’m still only twenty-eight, so I believe him. About everything in regards to vampires. 

So, I must be immortal, mustn’t I? 

It’s what I tell myself. I’d probably cry of joy if I sprouted grey hair in the next several years. 

“If you think I’m going to push her away just because of that, you’re sorely mistaken.” I reclaim my arm and rub it. It doesn’t hurt...per se, but it’s sore from how tight he’s held it and so pale that my skin is practically translucent. 

“I know you care about things you shouldn’t as a vampire. Like Bleeders. This is why I keep telling you to come back with me. Where you’re free to be yourself. You don’t ever have to worry about keeping your head ducked—”

“The last thing I’m ever going to do is go back to America with you.” I turn to him, and I see a small sliver of intimidation in his eyes. I don’t know what kind of show I’m putting on with my face, or my eyes, or my mouth...but it’s enough to keep the King under my thumb. 

He may rule a city, but he’s in my domain. And I have aces in my hand. I haven’t used my real power—my mage blood—on him yet. He doesn’t know. But I get some sort of sick twist of delight when he knows he can’t talk back. 

“It’s a suggestion that benefits you,” Lamb says after swallowing, and it must be fear because that look in his eyes, that very slight look, is gone. But he’s back to the shadow of himself that he shows me when he’s not benefitting from me or my prick. He’s pulling on his pants, and his trousers, and shoes. 

He’s going to disappear again, and then come back tomorrow. And we’re going to pretend that this didn’t happen because he’s going to try to get my head right and he needs to get his rocks off. 

But it’s not working. It’s stopped working. All I see are tawny skies and freckled stars and an incredibly boring blue ocean under a bronze sun. 

It’s not Lamb anymore, it’s Simon. I can’t shake his face out of my mind. 

I’m drowning in that blue. 

I don’t know how much of me will be left when I’m done with him...and Rosie. 

But I’m crying now that Lamb slammed the door behind him. And I’m going to throw up. It’s all becoming too much. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for leaving you off with this, but I need to go back to writing chapter 17 now. So. You're caught up!
> 
> QotC: Do YOU think Baz is immortal? (In this story, not in canon canon.) ALSO, do you think that Lamb is incorporeal or actually there? Lastly, where do you think Baz's mental state is at? This takes place right after he leaves Simon's. He's gone back to Lamb twice in a day now. 
> 
> Also, I'm trying to put a playlist together and I want to know: what do you think should be on it? Right now, it's just kind of a clusterfuck of songs that remind me of CT snowbaz in general. I would love some suggestions!!!
> 
> Love y'all, and have a good Sunday!


	17. Chapter 17

**Baz**

When Rosie does her homework, she likes to swing her legs and stick her tongue ever so slightly out of the corner of her mouth and it might be the Simon-est thing I’ve ever seen. 

Simon didn’t do that. Not that I remember. He was, and still is, a mouth breather, but with how her brows knit together and the way her sole focus is on what’s before her, she certainly looks like her father. 

It doesn’t help that the curls that fall into her face make her look even more like him. I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it several more times. She is close enough to be a carbon copy of one Simon Snow. 

There are a few more minutes until us teachers have to start calling parents to pick up their children from the after school programme, but there is only one child left waiting to go home—little miss Salisbury. 

She’s always the last one here for obvious reasons, but around this time, I let my colleagues leave. Say I have it handled, which I do. We just have to pack up and leave after the others. 

“Are you sure you’ve got her, Grimm? You do this every evening. I’m surprised you haven’t talked to someone about this yet,” the music teacher says. She sits on top of one of the desks while we watch Rosie. She’s almost finished with her maths and I’ll check it once we get home. 

Now that she’s in a more focused environment, she’s been doing much better at homework. Yesterday, she got a perfect score. I know I need to check her paper, but I probably don’t have to. I’m sure she did well on her adding and subtracting. 

I join my colleague and sit on a desktop close to hers. I push my fingers through my hair and cross my arms. “I have. Her father. We grew up together. He’s a very busy man.” 

“Too busy for his daughter?” she almost sounds disgusted, and I accidentally send her a too-harsh glare. Apologies are written in her gaze, but I don’t want to hear them. 

“He’s a single father and he’s trying to open a bakery so he doesn’t have to be at a packing plant every day. He’s doing his best and he’s a damned good father.” I push myself up from the desk and turn back to her. “You can leave now. I’ve got it handled.”

My colleague looks me over like she’s searching for something, but doesn’t attempt to size me up. Instead, she walks out of the classroom once gathering her things. 

Now, it’s just me and Rosie. 

Not that long ago, I was in her—my colleague’s—shoes….

I’m beginning to learn not to judge a book by its cover. It’s such a simple, idiotic phrase, but it’s powerful. Both magickally and morally. 

That, and I’m especially soft for this man. He has his modes and methods, and he’s doing what he can for Rosie.

When I reach the little princess, she’s set her pencil down and stopped kicking her legs. She won’t look at me either, even when I crouch down. Did she hear the conversation? I look at the door that’s been closed for the past couple of minutes and turn back to Rosie. 

My hand is giant compared to hers, and it cups hers entirely when I try to comfort her. “Are you all right?”

Rosie looks at me and her eyes are misty. I mentally curse the co-worker, and I might hex her later depending on how vexed I am by late night. 

“Is Daddy too busy for me? Is that why?” Her tears grow larger with each one that rolls down her cheeks, and if I could, I would wipe them away. But we’ve set boundaries. 

“You know that’s not why; he’s busy because he wants to take good care of you. And that’s why I’m helping.” I try to smile, but it’s hard when Rosie cries. She’s come to my room in tears many times before for similar reasons, but it’s difficult, especially for children, when they hear someone insult one of their parents. “In a few weeks, he’ll be spending as much time as he can with you. And you have the holiday to help him with the bakery.” 

Snow’s set on opening the bakery by at most the eleventh of December. That gives him two weeks before Christmas, but if he can open it sooner, he will. Right now, the actual construction will give him an opening day of the ninth by the earliest. To speed up the process, he’s been wanting to go and help after work, but I talked him out of it because he wouldn’t sleep if he did. (Not to mention, the contractor wouldn’t be there to help him and he can be very clumsy at times.) 

A bakery isn’t a place for a child, either, but she could sit in the front and hand out baskets to people. At least, that’s what Simon said she wanted to do. Very fitting for her. 

She smiles at the mention of the bakery, and she wipes the tears from her face. But a few more leak down her cheeks. 

“When can I go see it?” she asks me, and that, I don’t have the answer to. 

“I’ll ask him tonight. What do you think?” 

She nods, and the conversation is over. We need to leave and get back home so she can put on another little dance for me to watch. She likes to listen to Swan Lake and The Nutcracker the most, but she’s been pulling from other composers like Camille Saint-Saens. (One of these days, I plan on bringing my violin. She’d love that.) 

Before we leave, I always check her homework. She likes to be cleared before getting home so she can have free time rather than having to worry about homework. She only has the maths today, and when I look it over again, she missed a couple. I run through the problems with her, and then we’re free to leave. 

On the way to the car, I get a text and I pull out my phone to read a message from the one and only Simon Snow. It reads:  **I forgot to grab my dinner. Can you bring it? Sorry :/**

__

Even though Simon does text me, it’s always so odd knowing I’m right there at his fingertips. For the longest time, I was out of his grip. Nowhere near him. Floating away like a butterfly, but now I’m anchored down and he’s the cause. 

I guess I’ve always been tied down to him, haven’t I?

Not figuratively, but….

“Dr Grimm!”

Rosie runs back up to me, and before I realise, it starts to rain. 

If I weren’t in the middle of a Normal town, I would pull out my wand, but instead, I allow Rosie to tuck herself into my coat until we get into the car. I’m glad we were on the pavement, at least, rather than in the gravel. She’s far less messy than her father is, but she’s still a seven-year-old. 

We take off after I make sure she’s buckled in—“Pull on the seatbelt and make sure it’s buckled properly”—and I begin to drive back to the house. 

It would be easy enough to grab his lunchbox and take it to his work, but I’m feeling a little generous (and eternally hopeless), so I decide that it would be a good idea to make Simon a fresh dinner. Something other than cold toasties and an energy drink. 

Simon Snow’s a hopeless cook, though. We arrive at the Snow-Salisbury residence, and while Rosie gets comfortable, I look in the fridge. Nothing but condiments and leftovers from Alice’s. (Note to self—clean and organise the fridge.) 

I’m going to need to run to the store, but I don’t want to leave Simon hanging, so I text him back. 

**Give me about two hours. Can you hold out?**

__

He answers right away.  **OK**

__

We’ll need to leave now, then. I glance out of the window and notice the rain’s getting worse. We’ll be fine, but I’m going to need to get a raincoat on Rosie. Or a charm of the same effect.

“Rosie, are you almost dressed?” While I wait for her, I pick up and sort her things at the door. But she comes into the living room in her ballet getup before I can finish. “Can you dress in something we can go out in? I want to cook something for your father for dinner.” 

The girl looks down at her outfit and frowns. She flips her tutu upon walking back to her room. I have to keep myself from laughing, and if she does it again, I’m going to have to tell her to be more polite. 

Doesn’t make it less funny.

When she returns, she’s in another skirt, but she’s pulled on tights and a coat. Not something waterproof, but I pull out my wand and  **_Rain, rain go away_ ** her clothing. 

“Can you put glitter in my hair, too?” 

Her eyes sparkle, and I can’t say no. 

I end up with the stardust in my hair as well as we take off for the store. 

+++

“Did you grab a sweet that you wanted?” Rosie and I are waiting for a self-service checkout and I noticed she was ogling something sweet. She holds up what she grabbed now: M&M’s. 

I decided after asking Simon if he liked fish that I would make him a baked salmon meal. He asked why, and I hate that I feel giddy to see his reaction. I’m just cooking him dinner. (But I’m cooking him dinner when he could be eating a bagged meal.)

Just in case, I’m also bringing enough for me and Rosie. A small family meal in the breakroom (myself as an addition—nothing more). I don’t know how well Snow’s boss will take to this, so we’ll eat at home if we need to, but I thought it would be a pleasant surprise. 

When I first started taking care of Rosie, she mentioned she forgot the last time she had a real meal. Mostly pastries, bread, and drive-thru food. Since I’ve learned this, I’ve been making sure her meals are balanced, and with someone sitting with her at the table. 

Might as well include Snow in the mix. It’s good for a man and his child to have dinner together. 

Rosie finds us a checkout and she passes over the items while I scan them. She tries to take her M&M’s, which I scan last, but I remind her that she needs to eat before sweets and she doesn’t make much of a scene. She pouts her lip, but that’s it. 

Simon Snow really did raise a miniature superstar. 

Within minutes after arriving home, our items are put away appropriately and what we need to cook sits on the kitchen counter. 

“We need aprons,” Rosie says, and she rubs her hands over her face when it looks like she’s come to a revelation. “You need an apron, but there’s only one for Daddy and then me.” 

“I can bring one over,” I say, my gaze following her to the pantry. She opens it and pulls out the two they have, and they match. Of course they do. 

Rosie’s never cooked with me before, but while driving home, she insisted. (More like she was a brute force that would not listen to the word “no,” but I didn’t want to argue Snow’s mini-me over something so trivial.) I haven’t used an apron before, but to her it’s important. 

“This is Daddy’s. I don’t know if you’re allowed to use it,” Rosie says, but holds it out to me anyway. “He always wears one so I think you need to wear one to cook too.”

I take the apron from her. “I usually don’t, and I’ve never had an issue.”

Much like her father, she huffs. “But you  _ should _ .” And there’s that Penelope Bunce influence. 

If she spends much longer around me, she’s going to start sneering and rolling her eyes. 

We end up deciding that I  _ should _ wear the apron because it’s important, and I tie her apron because it’s part of “the thing.” (An initiation? Tradition? Rosie just tells me “the thing” again.) 

Once we’re past all of these Rosieisms, we work side by side to make the salmon. I allow her to season it and drizzle olive oil over the salmon and asparagus. (I can already imagine Snow grimacing at the sight of it.) While I work with putting both the salmon and the asparagus in the oven, I allow Rosie to butter the bread—sourdough. It goes with everything and it’s probably my favourite out of what he bakes. 

In total, it takes the two of us about thirty minutes to cook and pack everything. Rosie gives her approval by smelling it and giving me a thumbs up. 

Before we go, Rosie insists on dressing in her leotard, but we compromise with joggers and a heavy coat over it. I’m not about to allow her to walk out barely dressed in the frigid air, even if she does grumble about it. 

We make our way to his warehouse after she grabs her sketchbook. 

**Simon**

The more I work here, the more excited I get that I only have a couple of more weeks of this. 

Well, technically speaking, only about a week with excessive labour. I’m going to slowly wean off of this job. At least, that’s what the boss says I should do. So it’s not all too much at once, and so I can continue to make money with them until I can’t anymore. 

It makes perfect sense, so I’m going with what he says. 

Though I do have good co-workers (congenial, friendly), I am ready to work on my own and with what I like to do. I only really got this job because it paid well. It’s all right for something I don’t  _ want _ to do. 

Only a few weeks. The thought calms me when it crosses my mind. 

It does a lot, especially when I’m loading things like I am. I should be on my break, but I don’t have anything to eat and Baz decided he needed to take forever. (Then again, he doesn’t owe  _ me _ anything. It’s the other way around.) I could go without eating, but as I continue working, the more I realise that I’m going to need a break whether I eat or not. 

But before I can start questioning if not eating is worth it, my boss walks down to our station and smiles. “Special delivery for Simon Snow.” 

_ Thank Merlin _ , I think. Time to eat. 

Both Rosie and Baz are sitting around the break room table with three separate containers set out. Utensils and drinks included. I stare at it, unsure of what to think. First—what? Second—why? A heat creeps up my neck and spreads across my cheeks. 

“Daddy, we’re having dinner with you!” Rosie says, and when she embraces me, I hug her back, but I stare at Baz. He’s sitting there on his phone like he didn’t make dinner—like he didn’t cook it from scratch—when all I asked was that he bring my lunchbox. 

Unbelievable.

(What does this even mean?)

I sit with my daughter and the babysitter and look down at the Tupperware. Salmon, bread, and asparagus. The smell is both horrendous and appealing. I’ve never had asparagus and enjoyed it, but I’ll try again. 

“Why did you—”

“I felt like it, and it would be good for you to eat with Rosie more often. Just pretend I’m not here.” Baz smiles toothlessly (like he usually does unless he’s actually happy) and I almost tell him. I almost say that I do want him here and I’m glad he came. 

I don’t.

After Baz left on Saturday, things haven’t been  _ quite _ the same. I mean, I can text him and he answers normally. And we can hold a conversation. That’s no issue. But…but he’s closing up. With each day that passes (with each day that gets closer to Penny coming home), he closes up more. I wish he wouldn’t, but… he is. 

I guess he’s slowly getting over being a babysitter. Which…okay. 

Okay.

As I eat, I feel Baz’s eyes on me, and when I look in his direction, he looks away just in time. What is going on inside his head? 

Why is he….

One of my newer co-workers walks into the breakroom in the middle of our dinner and at first, he walks past us. He goes to the bubbler and gets a sip, and when he turns around, a sly smirk slips onto his face. 

Baz is directly in his path of vision, and Baz is looking back at him.

I look back to my co-worker as he does the typical flirt manoeuvre. Biting the lip, allowing his eyes to roam Baz from the bottom up. Something in the pit of my stomach begins to boil. If I were still explosive, I might be smoking right now. 

**Baz**

I see Simon Snow is surrounded by queers; one of his co-workers walked into the breakroom ogling me and now that his eyes are on me, he’s giving me that look. I already know what it is—I’ve seen it many times before. 

It’s that look that’s asking if you want to meet up after. If you want to link up in a loo and lock the bathroom door. The look of a man who wants something—now—but it needs to be quick. 

But I’m on duty, and the man I’m currently eating with has me twisted around his pinky finger.

“Never seen you around here before, mate,” the man says, and I play curt. I cross my legs and lean back, chewing on salmon. I allow myself to chew slowly and swallow, quite possibly basking in the attention but also not wanting to give him the time of day that makes him feel significant in my universe. 

He eats this up, and I can feel Simon Snow’s heat from here. 

Now, what’s got him boiling? I don’t let it affect me. 

“I don’t work here,” I say, now allowing myself to expand. I pump my chest out just a bit all while crossing my arms. I’m not muscular, but the pose helps a bit. 

The bloke likes it. He gives me another once-over and his eyes darken with lust. 

“Oi. Stop flirting with my babysitter, yeah?” Simon interrupts, and I’m so surprised, I gawk. 

He’s all red and his hands are balled into fists. His eyes stand out, and they pierce through me when he glances in my direction. He softens, just a bit, but he doesn’t look happy. At all. But my insides scramble. I think I may know that look, and it’s one he’s shot directly at me before, but on a different occasion.  _ Jealousy _ . 

Simon Snow can’t be jealous, can’t he?

I think he is, though, and I have to keep myself from…grinning. 

I can’t quite wrap my head around this, and my heart, my dead heart, feels as if it’s going to break out of my chest. It’s not beating. I put my hand over my heart to make sure. But it feels as if it is. 

“What, Snow, is he your boyfriend?” The coworker walks backwards toward the bubbler; Simon freezes in his seat and the red turns into a sickly pale.

“Boys can have boyfriends?” Rosie says, and all at once, the smug look on the co-worker’s face, the anger on Simon’s, and the twist of satisfaction rolling through me all disappear. 

This was not what I expected to happen by bringing Simon Snow a cooked dinner on a Tuesday evening, but here we are. 

**Simon**

I’m fuming, absolutely bubbling over. I’m keeping myself from shoving the bastard out of the breakroom and screaming at him, but Baz has it handled, the bastard. 

“I’m sure I could report this to HR. Would you like that, or would you rather get back to work?” He wears the same flirtatious smile and I want to rip it off his face. 

_ Don’t look at him like that _ , my brain screams.  _ Don’t _ . 

But that works. My co-worker’s bedroom eyes snap open and he almost looks disgusted. He leaves, grumbling under his breath. 

“Boys can like boys?” Rosie asks again, and I rub my hands over my face, through my locks, and pull at them. 

It’s not a conversation I’ve been avoiding. I want Rosie to be kind to everyone, no matter their differences. But how this came about… I want Baz to leave. My head’s a whirlwind and I don’t want to have this conversation right now, but here we fucking are. 

Baz sends me an apologetic gaze when I look his way, but it’s not working. 

“Boys can like boys and girls can like girls. Sometimes, they get married, too,” I sigh, trying to find the right headspace to tell her about this. But I can’t. My mind is reeling, absolutely all over the place. Baz stepped over a line and I’m  _ going _ to yell at him later. I’m glad I know that fancy spell that he uses because I’m going to scream at him for hours. 

I scoop the last bit of food into my mouth and swallow, barely chewing. I snap the Tupperware closed and stand abruptly. Rosie startles just a bit and I sigh. I’m not mad at her. I hope she knows that. It’s everything else, starting with Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. 

“Fix this,” I tell him, and there’s a bit of venom in my words. He nods, but I think I may be starting to anger him, too. 

He’s probably making assumptions. He loves doing that. 

And then I turn to Rosie and sit back down so I’m closer to her height. “Ask as many questions as you need to, okay? It’s an important thing to know about, but Dr Grimm can tell you more about it than I can.”

I can feel Baz’s eyes on me. 

Good. 

The two leave before I go back to work, and I  _ work _ . 

+++

My blood’s still boiling by the time I get home and the moment I walk through my front door, I cast a, “ **_Fall on deaf ears_ ** !” 

Baz  _ was _ asleep on the sofa, but I’ve frightened him awake. He looks sorry, and I’m not having it.

“What was that, Basilton? Why were you—”

“It was unintentional,” Baz says, keeping his composure, even though I woke him up abruptly. He smooths out his trousers and everything, and it’s making me all the angrier. My grip tightens around my wand. 

“I don’t want you to—I…don’t  _ flirt _ in front of my daughter! With a co-worker!  _ Honestly _ ! Why would you!?” 

I get closer, and Baz pulls out his own wand. Sleekly. Without moving a single muscle in his face. His expression is completely neutral, and now I’m upset over something else. 

“And can you stop pushing away! Crowley, Baz! How am I supposed to feel about you babysitting Rosie when you do this? And close off? What am I supposed to feel? Tell me.” 

The neutrality fades with a new wave of guilt, and he pats the seat next to him. “We should talk about this like adults. You know I’m right. Arguing won’t figure this out.”

“And neither will keeping secrets!” 

Baz squeezes his eyes shut and I can hear him mentally count to ten. “Then let’s talk. It’s too late for your blood pressure to skyrocket for idiotic reasons that we can work around.”

I sheath my wand, but growl under my breath because it feels right. It feels  _ normal _ . Baz Pitch sitting on my sofa like he’s a welcome guest isn’t normal. Yelling is, especially after a long, stressful day. 

“Just sit down.”

I huff, but do so anyway. 

I hate how reasonable Baz is. Especially when he provoked  _ me _ . 

“I hope you know that I didn’t go in there intending to flirt with your co-workers. All I wanted to do was bring you some food so we could eat together. And then  _ that  _ happened. I won’t talk to your co-workers again—I won’t bring dinner again—”

“Wait.” I rub my forehead, willing that it will iron out the very fine lines beginning to collect above my brow. “I do…I appreciated what you did. I just…I wasn’t ready to tell Rosie about…you know. I wasn’t anticipating it.” 

“You can’t anticipate that sort of thing.” Baz sounds just a bit bitter, and I glance at him. He’s frowning. “Not the questions. You can usually anticipate coming out, but not when questions like that surface.”

As each moment passes, I grow calmer. Not because we’re talking—because we’re around each other. Over the course of ten years, he’s managed to acquire the power to calm me down instead of making me  _ go off _ . 

But we sit there, and I diffuse. He doesn’t do anything but be there. But it helps. 

After about ten minutes, I’m calm. I’m still confused. My brain is polluted. I don’t know what I’m thinking. But I know that I don’t ever want to see Baz flirt with someone again.

It makes me want to vomit. 

There are more important things, though. Rosie things. Like Baz “fixing it.” 

“What did…how did the talk go with Rosie?” I should’ve been there. I shouldn’t have blown up.  _ I’m _ supposed to give her the gay talk, not the babysitter. 

I swore I’d never freak out around Rosie like that and….

“She understood what you meant, but I allowed her to ask more questions.” 

**Baz**

She asked if she could have two daddies.

**Simon**

I nod. “Just…things in general? Anything interesting?”

“No.” 

**Baz**

Rosie asked if Simon and I could be boyfriends. 

I need to go home.

**Simon**

Baz is closing off again, but I don’t say anything. I watch him pack up his things. He doesn’t even say goodbye. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Simon...jealous????
> 
> This is interesting. 
> 
> QotC: What do you think Baz's closing up symbolizes? Is it himself or Lamb influencing it? Or do you think there's something else?
> 
> I always love hearing what y'all have to say. It seriously makes my day seeing people in the comments picking things apart. It makes me really happy!!!
> 
> Anyway, I promise things are really starting to pick up!! Penny's almost home and Baz's time is running out!
> 
> Stay tuned! I'll be back tomorrow!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW!

**Baz**

“If your concern is about teaching, I think you would make an excellent candidate for a teacher or administrator in Clark County School District.” 

We’re on the sofa, and our legs are tangled as he rests his head on my chest. I hate the way his naked body constricts mine. I can barely breathe under him and his scent. I want to shove him off, but I can’t find myself doing so. I don’t have the energy, and I want to stay away from the true thoughts running through my head for a bit longer. 

If playing into Lamb’s fantasy of my moving to Las Vegas with him takes me out of it, I’ll do it. 

_ I can’t think about them. I can’t. I mustn’t. It’s hard enough going over and knowing that I only have about a week left. Only a week left to pretend I have a family. _

_ A week left of tooth-gapped seven-year-old smiles. A week left of listening to Simon ramble on about his bakery. A week left at the Snow-Salisbury home _ .

Lamb holds the phone up to me and I take it. It’s the page for Las Vegas’s school district. I had my fill of America after a few weeks. I don’t need anymore. I like the lush greens, the age, the grace of England. I don’t want to live in a lawless, godforsaken country that thrives off of machine guns and moonshine. (Moonshine, I discovered, is much like drinking straight surgical spirit.) 

But Lamb loves it. He’s free there, and happy, and is at the top of the world. He has his people, his stock supply of blood, freedom, and  _ power _ . 

His freedoms and powers aren’t mine. He isn’t a mage. Magic is different there, and I abhor it. Everything is too loose. I need tight-knit. I need community. 

But I humour his suggestion. I pass the phone back to him and he slides it onto the coffee table. 

“I mean it when I say you should come,” he purrs, and his eyes are flashing again. Flashing with that lust, the want. His fingers trace my muscles and my breathing constricts further. 

I don’t want this. Or him. Not like this. 

But I’ll take it. I’ll take it if it makes my thoughts disappear. 

“I know,” I breathe when his hand ghosts over my groin. His fingers are feathery. He’s gentle, but he’s still making my body react. 

“You should come with me,” he whispers, sitting up to straddle my legs so he can have more access to everything else. 

“I know,” I say again, and when he takes a hold of me and gives a slight squeeze, I writhe in his hand. 

“You know that I mean it.” And he continues stroking me. He’s got me vulnerable, he’s trying to open me up. Keep me below him. 

“I do,” I pant. “But….”

But. But but but.

Simon Snow’s in the way. He expands all over, in every direction. Seas of him. Not seas. Galaxies. Universes. He’s infinite. 

_ I can’t run away. I can’t take him out of my brain. He would miraculously find his way back into my head no matter what I do. Even if I used a memory charm to wipe him from my mind, I wouldn’t forget. I couldn’t get away.  _

_ I don’t want to.  _

_ What am I afraid of? _

I push Lamb’s hand away from my crotch, and I squirm under his body. I want him off of me. I don’t want him anywhere near me.

“Well.” Lamb climbs off of me, denying me any sort of dignity. He’s grinning. It’s evil and filled with malice. But it’s there and I can feel my stomach turn. “This is about the Bleeder again, isn’t it?”

“Lamb—”

“Do you know who will never be there for you like this, Basilton?” Lamb is putting on his clothes. But he’s keeping his eyes on me. 

_ His pet. His sex toy. _

“Do you know who will never make you feel this way?” Lamb leans over me and his lips are right there...but I don’t want them. I don’t want him. 

The room is silent and it’s too loud. My ears are going to pop. 

“Simon Snow, Basilton. You are nothing but a babysitter to him. And when he’s done with you—”

“I think he might like me,” I say. It sounds so idiotic, so  _ elementary _ , but I can’t say that he loves me. I sound like a child saying this, and I’m trying to keep myself from cowering. I’m not a coward. I’m just reserved when I need to be.

_ To protect myself. To protect others _ .

“Why would he?” Lamb gives me a once-over and almost scoffs. I’m not sure if I’m more hurt or angry. But both are building up and I’m beginning to regain my dignity. 

“Because I was there for him when he was in a rough place.” I sit up and toss the blanket off the back of my couch over my lap. “I take good care of his daughter.”

_ She wants me to be a part of their family. _

“Until when? Until everything is in the clear for him? He’s abandoned you before. Who’s to say he wouldn’t do that again?” 

Lamb always goes for the low blow. Even when we’re not fighting, we’re fighting. But he knows what makes me tick. He knows what gets under my skin the most. My reaction is physical. I stand up and loom over him. 

He flinches, and a sick grin twists onto my face. 

_ Good _ .

“Leave, Lamb. Go. I don’t want you.” 

I know he’ll be back, but this is a battle I’ve won. He tosses me a dirty look and leaves. 

But his thoughts remain. 

His questions. 

Snow and I are friends. 

He won’t just… leave me. Right? 

_ Right? _

I stare at the ceiling. There’s only a week left with the two of them, and when I should make it count, I’m fading away instead. I’m piece by piece erasing myself from his story. 

Maybe he likes me. I could tell he was jealous. That  _ had _ to be jealousy. 

_ But can I ever be happy?  _

_ We were like this before.  _

_ I asked him to come to my house for Christmas.  _

_ He said no.  _

_ A few months later, Simon Snow and Agatha Wellbelove were holding hands again.  _

_ Before I fucked off to Oxford, I saw Agatha on the streets of London. She didn’t see me, but I saw the small diamond on her ring finger. It caught the light beautifully.  _

_ I’d never had anything to lose, but it felt like a defeat. _

Do I make a move? Do I say  _ something _ ?

I lost him once before. I lost him ten years ago. 

Will I lose him after this, too? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well. 
> 
> Sex therapy isn't quite working, is it? 
> 
> Lamb's really layering up that manipulation, isn't he?
> 
> QotC: What do you think Lamb has in store? 
> 
> I promise there will be more happiness in this story!!!!!! I swear! We just gotta...push through this bullshit lmao. 
> 
> Soon. 
> 
> Until tomorrow!


	19. Chapter 19

**Simon**

Baz’s last day is on a Saturday, and he gets to the house early in the morning. I’m up, about to make breakfast, when he walks in with groceries. He doesn’t see me at first, but I watch him. Baz is monumentally dressed down —joggers and a tee. Something I would wear.  He sets down the groceries for a moment, rubs his hands over his face, and picks them back up. 

Is he crying? 

He turns into the kitchen, and when he notices me, he nearly drops his bags. But he doesn’t. And he keeps a painfully neutral expression. 

“I didn’t see you.” 

“Yeah….” 

Baz passes me and places the bags on the counter and gets to work. He pulls out bacon first, and a few other things for a traditional English breakfast. 

I watch him over his shoulder. “Rosie doesn’t like beans.” 

He’s soft, but he’s guarded. His shoulders scrunch up when he talks to me and it takes every bone in my body to keep myself from pushing them down. From ironing out his body. 

Why is he so stressed? 

“I know.” 

I want to unpack him. Sit down and remove every thought from his brain. I’m not the type of person to psychoanalyse, but something is wrong with him. 

_ Something _ .

“I’m making breakfast. You should sit down and relax or go back to bed,” he tells me, and finally, there’s something on his face when he turns to look at me. I think… I think it’s sadness.

“Are you okay? Did… did something happen?” I step closer, but he steps back.

Merlin and Morgana, not  _ this _ again.

“Baz.”

He rolls his eyes and turns back to the stove. It’s not hot enough yet, I guess, so he does nothing but stand there. He won’t face me. I take his shoulder and he pushes my hand off. 

“Go back to bed. Let me do something nice for our last day.” He turns to me and cocks his head to the side. “I don’t want to argue today. We should just enjoy ourselves.” 

I glare at him. 

“Do you want to  _ help _ me cook? Because your fridge tells me you’re not very good.” There’s a hint of a smile and even though he’s provoking me, I have to keep myself from doing so as well. 

“Hey.” 

“You have condiments in there.  _ Condiments _ . And nothing else other than leftovers that I need to clean out. When was the last time you cleaned the actual refrigerator?” He walks over and opens it. 

He’s right and I hate it. It’s barren. 

“I can bake,” I say, trying to defend myself. 

“Yes, but variety is a beautiful thing, Simon Snow. And I will be using your toast to put my beans on.” He steps around me and back to the stove. He holds his hand over the pan and I grab it and yank it back. 

“You’re flammable.” 

Baz rolls his eyes. “So is everything. Now, give me an egg if you're so insistent on helping me.” 

For a moment, I stand there. Baz has dark circles ringing his eyes, and his hair looks like it hasn’t been washed in a few days. I haven’t noticed it before. As much as I want to ask him if he’s all right again, I know that he  _ will _ push me back into my bedroom and force me to go back to sleep until he’s ready. 

I grab him the eggs and come back over. 

Neither of us say anything. But I watch him. I watch his hands and how the muscles and tendons work under his skin. And his arms have a fine bit of hair on them. It’s not thick, but it’s there. 

Baz knows I’m looking at him. He knows I’m studying him. He looks at me from time to time. I can see his head turn in the peripheral. But I don’t care that he knows. I don’t care that he knows that I like looking at him. 

It means that he’s right here and not somewhere else. 

But we say nothing unless Baz asks me for something. I stay quiet and get it for him. 

I think there may be something we both want to say. But neither of us will. So we stand in the sombre silence. The world weighs us down, but I can’t hold onto him to keep myself from going down with it. 

  
  


**Baz**

Simon Snow keeps looking at me with those blue eyes of his, and it’s a sorry stare. We’re both sad, and I don’t think either of us wants anything to move —figuratively speaking. Simon Snow loves moments. He loves the present and now and doesn’t reminisce on the past with a smile on his face. He wants this at a standstill. He wants us in a picture frame. 

I think he might want me in it. 

It would be so easy to turn to him and say that Rosie asked if we could be boyfriends. I could pretend to be humouring her, like it was an innocent question, and if he doesn’t like the idea, I could laugh about how it’s silly. 

All I have to do is open my mouth, but even when I do, there’s nothing to be said. 

Words fall short.

Actions don’t. 

I came here this morning, a visible mess, but I want to show them—my dear Simon and the lovely Rosie—that I care. That I want to cook for them, and that I want to go and eat meals with them. That I am here. I am  _ right here _ . 

When I’m with Simon, I think like this. I stare at him and I swear I have it figured out. He smiles, and every thought and distraction fades. I feel a little less hopeless and a lot more here. With him. In this little brick cottage that needs some maintenance. We could plant some roses in the garden, and we could fix the house up. I can hold his hand while we walk along the Thames. Rosie can sit on his shoulders. 

I should say something. 

But the moment they’re out of sight, I’m reminded of how hopeless it would be. Maybe Simon Snow may think of me romantically, but where do we go from there?

_ Like this. Making breakfast and getting Rosie ready for ballet and being soft with each other. Exactly how we have been, but I would wake up next to Simon Snow. _

Ultimately, this is a test. For myself. For Simon. 

Rosie will go back to Penelope. 

But will he abandon me again? 

That’s my biggest fear. That’s the test. 

If he does, I will be done with him. If he doesn’t, we’ll figure it out. I’ll sort myself out. I’ll be collected. Ties. Jeans on the occasion. Giving myself boundaries instead of crossing every single one that I created when I was younger. 

I came too close. I will never be a hero or the protagonist in a novel. But Simon Snow is my fatal flaw. He will be my downfall if I don’t pull back either way. 

So I gave myself this day. I am vulnerable. Simon Snow could see right through me if he chose to, but he’s always been impervious. 

_ Good _ , I think. But also, _ Please, please see me. Please see that I gave all I could because I’ve never stopped loving you _ . 

  
  


**Simon**

Baz is slow. He takes his time with everything. It’s like he’s absorbing each second. Savouring it. And then going as he needs to. We finish breakfast at nine, and he waits for me to wake Rosie. He says he’ll set the table. 

Rosie has been sad these past few days. Pouting. And each morning, she asks if Baz can keep babysitting her. She doesn’t want him to go away. 

I remind her that Aunt Penny’s missed her, and that she’ll get to spend time with her cousin. She always says it isn’t the same and that she’s tired of bossing Penny’s kid around. 

Even now, when she opens those brown eyes, she asks, “Can Dr Grimm babysit me again tomorrow?”

_ Why the fuck not? _

“Aunt Penny’s missed you.” I brush the curls out of her eyes. “And you’ll see him at school, Princess. He’s not going away.” 

Rosie turns away from me. “It’s not the same.”

And she’s right. She won’t see him as much. 

And I won’t see him at all. 

I doubt… will Baz even want to see me after? 

I try not to dwell on it. I can compartmentalise it like I do with every other memory I have. Stow it away. 

_ But I don’t want to. I don’t want to forget all that he’s done for me. And to me _ .

My heart flutters. 

“Let’s go make the best of it, then,” I say and swoop her out of the bed. She giggles, and I kiss the top of her head. 

All I need is this right now. Rosie’s smile. Her laughs. Her spirit. 

The table’s set nicely when we walk back into the kitchen. Baz has gone the extra mile to make the paper napkins look like different animals. Rosie’s instantly delighted by this, and she hops down from my arms to claim the swan on the table. 

Baz is smiling, and it’s genuine. He’s showing his teeth. 

I want it to stay there. 

I want him to stay there. 

Even in his tee and joggers, he fits there. He’s dead handsome, and he’s an excellent addition to this kitchen. To the table. I like seeing him loose like this. Stubbled. Dirty-haired. Vulnerable. Available. 

I find myself standing next to him. “You didn’t have to do this.” 

He gazes down at me, and though I’ve never felt warmth from his gaze before, I certainly do now. He’s glowing, and he’s soft. “I wanted to.” 

Baz moves to sit down, and I stand there in front of stale air. My lips twitch, and so does my hand. 

  
  


I float in a limbo between breakfast and dropping Rosie off at the dance studio. My head’s in the clouds and I can’t stop looking at Baz. He must think I’m off my nut, but I can’t stop. I don’t want to. 

I finally do when he opens the passenger door. Instead of looking at him, I look past him. 

The direct eye contact… I can’t do it right now. 

“We didn’t agree to a coffee, but there’s this drink I wanted you to try.” 

When I do look at him, he still looks soft. His eyes are vulnerable. He’s let down that bridge, and I know not to ask. But I want to cross. 

He gives me room to stand, and I do. I follow him into the coffee shop. 

Two breves with chocolate and pumpkin syrup. He pays, and I let him because I don’t want to argue. 

We sit down, and don’t talk. We get our drinks remain in silence. 

There’s so much I want to say. I want to take him by the hands and tell him that I’m sorry. Ask him… ask him to stay. I don’t know how. But in some way. 

I don’t say this to him. I drink down my candy bar breve. I have nothing to say. 

I have so much to ask. 

“So… what are you going to do once you’re free?” 

Baz, who has been looking in every other direction but me, gives me a look that could either translate as, “Shut up,” or “Don’t say it like that.” 

He takes the mug in his hands and shifts in his seat. “I don’t know.” 

“Really?” 

Baz shrugs. “Grade papers. Create lesson plans. I’m not a busy person.” 

_ Then do something with us _ . 

I want to say it. 

“What do you do on the weekends?” 

Baz shrugs again. I think he’s picked up that habit from me. “I’m not a busy person.” 

There’s nothing frigid about Baz. He’s not holding off. But he seems windless. 

I want to ask what’s going through his mind. I don’t know what’s going through mine. 

But he will close off further. He will push away. He won’t want anything to do with me if I keep pushing. 

And pushing.

And pushing—

“Simon.” Baz says my name so softly, it’s almost a whisper. He puts both hands flat on the table, and his breathing has picked up. His eyes scream urgency, and I almost reach over.  _ What’s wrong?  _ Please  _ tell me _ . “Why were you—”

“Oh, Basilton, darling.” 

  
  


**Baz**

The blood in my body freezes and goose pimples freckle my skin.

That voice. 

_ His _ voice. 

_ Go away _ , I want to scream, but Lamb puts his hand on my shoulder and gives it a tight squeeze. It hurts, and I’m looking at Simon and it hurts worse. 

Puzzles are working in his mind and he’s putting the pieces together. Incorrectly, most likely. Lamb is not my boyfriend. 

“Who are you?” Simon asks like a five-year-old who never runs out of questions. “How do you know Baz?”

I don’t have to turn around to know Lamb is smirking. To know that he’s going to dismantle every connection I have to Simon Snow. He’s going to sever it with the charm he has. With the magic he uses to convince people to believe him. The same he used on me. 

“Baz and I have special relations.” Lamb’s grip tightens and I have to will myself not to yelp. 

I’m humiliated. I’m heartbroken. I want to disappear. 

But I stare at Simon, and I can almost hear it when he figures out that Lamb is a vampire, too. The look on his face shifts. He’s bubbling up. 

“Yeah?” He’s holding himself back. His fists are balling up. He’s going to stand up and launch the chair backwards a good ten feet next. 

“I’m still working on him,” Lamb says, “but I think I’ve almost got him cracked. What do you say, love?” 

The pet name nearly makes me vomit. “I don’t agree with you.” 

“That’s not what you say when we’re at home.” Lamb pats my cheek. Simon does the predictable and stands. 

“Ah. I think my drink’s ready. I’m a busy man, so I must be going.” Lamb releases me from his grasp and leaves us with radioactive tension in the air. 

  
  


**Simon**

How could I be so stupid? So, so stupid. I stare at Baz and every emotion I have rushes to my head at once. Anger. Jealousy.  _ Heartbreak _ . 

_ Heartbreak _ , for Merlin’s sake, and why?!

When Agatha left us, I decided I was not destined for love. And that was okay. 

All I needed was Rosie and Penny. Rosie made me smile day after day, and even when I felt like I failed, she loved me. Penny reminded me that I was doing everything that I could do, and that I’m a good father. 

But then Baz came in like a lightning strike. 

He held me and said that he wouldn’t let Rosie be taken away. He cooked for her, cleaned my house, took pictures for us to hang. He would talk to me even when I woke him up, and we’d spend every Saturday sitting in this cafe, talking about my plans for the bakery. He would tell me things I thought I would never learn about him, and he was always so kind. 

I didn’t know that Baz, but I do now. And I know he loves Rosie, and he showed me love I thought I didn’t deserve because if I did, why would Agatha have left me? 

I used to be afraid that he was my replacement, but it’s not like that. Not at all.

He became a part of our “we.”

My home became his. 

I stand right here now, so stupid. So stupid to realise so late. 

All of those feelings I had. The nausea, the fluttering heart… the fond glances and the moments I took to appreciate him….

I can’t call it love. But I can call it happiness. And fondness. And something I want. 

But lo and behold: he has someone already. Not to mention, he’s a bleeding vampire. Of course. A natural choice for someone who will never die. 

How could I be so stupid? 

I can’t look at Baz anymore. I can’t stand to look at him. I leave the cafe and I can hear him following behind me. 

“Simon,” he says, and I ignore him. I need a walk. I need to air out my thoughts. I need to allow my brain to diffuse and detox itself from  _ him _ . 

There was nothing romantic about it, about us, but so much was there. 

“Simon, where are you going?” 

“Anywhere you aren’t!” I snap at him. I refuse to turn around. I can’t look at him. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong—Simon!” Baz grabs my arm and when I look up, I notice I’m about to walk into a busy street. 

Fuck, now I’m indebted to him for my life, too. 

“You did everything wrong!” I yell at him, and I push his arm off of me. I push him away from me and he takes it. He doesn’t fight back. “First off,  _ him? _ Baz, I know that you’re… but think about it. Did he know you were there? Does he know where we live? I don’t want him  _ anywhere _ near Rosie and I don’t want her anywhere near  _ you _ if you’re going to keep those ties.

“Secondly, fuck you!” I’m breathing hard and I’m only riling myself up. I take a look at him and he looks like his dog’s been run over. “Fuck you for telling me you’re gay and making me feel how I do about you and being so… so loving, only for you to be fucking shagging some other bloke! You’re not allowed to do that to me! Not after Agatha! Not at all!”

Baz’s mouth hangs open. I want to tape it shut, and then I never want to look at it again. 

“Do you get off on torturing me?” I continue. I don’t know when I’ll stop. “Because congratulations. You’ve crossed every fucking line, mate.” 

So much more rages in my mind. I want to hurt him how he hurt me. But I don’t know how to, or where to start. 

And to think just this morning, I was adoring him. I was lapping up all that he was doing. 

There’s nothing else I can say. I could do so many things, but I can’t. I won’t. So, I walk past him. I make sure to ram my shoulder into his, and he catches my wrist. 

“Simon,  _ please _ listen to me.”

“ _ No! _ And I don’t want to see you again, either! Fuck off!” I take my wrist back and rub it where he had his hand gripped around it. “We’ll walk home. It’s only about twenty minutes.” 

“What are you going to say to Rosie?” Baz looks in pain.  _ Good. _

“She won’t know about this.” 

I walk away, and I pray that I don’t start crying. 

  
  


**Baz**

_ Simon Snow. _

_ I have been in love with you since the Crucible brought us together. You were the sun, and I was crashing into you. I’d wake up every morning and think, "This will end in flames.”  _

_ But here we are, ten years later. Older. Smarter. And here I am, opening up for you. To you. I have never stopped loving you.  _

I was going to tell him.

_ Rosie asked if she could have two daddies when we had our discussion _ .

I was going to tell him. 

_ She asked if we could be boyfriends. _

I was going to tell him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in pain. 
> 
> QotC: Do you think Baz will be able to reach out to Simon?
> 
> Also, for ease of mind, Lamb's only going to be in two more chapters! So yay!
> 
> If you like the story, please tell your friends about it! And if you have questions, you know where to find me! 
> 
> Have a good day, and thank you for the kudos and comments! 200 kudos!!!!!!


	20. Chapter 20

**Baz**

The wind blows through me as I stand on the pavement. I feel semi-permeable. Like a ghost. 

The air has been knocked out of my lungs and I can’t stop wondering, _What just happened?_

I can’t quite believe it. I can’t believe I was so close to getting what I wanted, but… but it was taken from me again.

And to think, Simon Snow could have been mine if Lamb didn’t take that moment from me. 

I was about to tell him. And he would have been interested. 

But Lamb. He swooped in and ruined any chance. 

Of course, I could try and reach out. But I know Simon. He’s stubborn. He won’t believe me. 

Did Lamb know this? Did I tell him this during one of my tirades about Simon? 

Bitterness fills my body, and I drive home with the taste of bile in my mouth. 

  
  


Lamb is in my living room when I open the front door, eating my food and drinking my tea. He’s watching my television, and it’s like he lives here. But he’s a parasite. An infestation. With every negative emotion I feel, he gets bigger. Fuller. He thrives off my pain. 

And he’s here. He’s right in front of me, acting like he’s supposed to be where he is. In my house. Bumming on my sofa. 

I could succumb. I could contribute to my downfall. I could fall into his arms and let him take me. I could wreck Simon Snow further, but I refuse to. 

Not when I have so much at stake. Even when I’ve already lost it.

_But what did I lose? I never had any of it in the first place._

_I lost Simon’s smile and his laugh and that look he gives me when I playfully provoke him. I lost those nights I let him wake me up just so we could talk, and Saturdays where we spent hours together. With Rosie. Like a family. And knowing how he is, I might just lose Rosie as a pupil._

Going back to Lamb isn’t worth it. Not at all. 

Not if it means hurting Simon, even if he wouldn’t know. 

I know we weren’t dating. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. But I felt like I was on a downward spiral, and Simon’s heart is too fragile to mess with. 

I never expected to find my way into Simon’s heart in the first place. 

But now that I have, I know where we stand and I don’t want to go back. Simon has feelings for me, and I completely mutilated them by feeding into an addiction. Into wanting to run away from something I was afraid of, even though I shouldn’t have been. 

Simon Snow had feelings for me. I could’ve run into his arms, but I ran the other direction. 

This doesn’t just hurt him. It hurts Rosie, too. 

Because she wanted two daddies. 

I betrayed her. But it stops here. I don’t think I’ll be able to fix this… I can’t force it to be fixed. But I can take Lamb out of my life. 

I can make him go away. 

That’s a first step.

“I see you’re very busy,” I say loudly, and I slam the front door behind me. He knew I was going to be boisterous. My upset state is morphine to him. It’s just another time he thinks he can take advantage of me. 

“So that was him,” Lamb says. He places the food and tea he stole on my coffee table and stands. He wants to touch me. He’s going to slither about my body like a snake. Constricting me. Knocking the breath out of me. 

Not again. 

Never again. 

He slinks over. I stand my ground. I can play cool. I can play bored. I can be both upset, obviously, and frigid at the same time. 

I think he feels it now when he looks hesitant to let his hands roam. But he tries, and I smack them away. 

“I can’t believe that he’s _the_ Simon Snow. I would’ve thought he would be...well….”

Lamb turns away from me and feigns thinking. I know he wants to hurt. I know he’s going to go for the punch. 

“I don’t know, Basil. I think you’re too handsome for him.”

_Lies._

My hands ball up at my sides and my jaw clenches. I want to punch him—I want to show him who could win in a fight. But I keep my cool, even though I’m chomping at the bit. 

“I don’t care what you think. I don’t care what you say. I don’t care about anything that has to do with you. Whatever is going through your mind will never change how I feel about him. _Ever_.” 

“Oh, Basilton.” He gives me a faint sympathetic smile. I can see that he feels nothing by how the light shifts in his eyes. He tries to take a hold of me again, but I shove him away. “Who’s here for you now? Who’s always here for you when you’re upset? You know I did that for you, right? To show you who's in your corner.” 

“I don’t fucking care. It doesn’t matter anymore!” I squeeze my fists harder and I can feel heat build up inside them. I let them go slack, but I charge towards him. He takes me by the arms before I can mow him over. 

“Where is your Simon now? He didn’t even give you a chance to explain, did he? He just wanted you out of his life, I’m sure. An easy way out—”

“ _You do not know him!_ ” I finally scream, and I push him away from me—I throw him across the room and his body’s outline cracks the drywall. I have no time to be surprised by how strong I am. I’m too upset. “He’s doing what he needs to do for himself! For his daughter! I’m _heartbroken_ , but I’m also in love with him! It hurts. I’m in _pain_ because for just a _moment,_ I thought there might have been a chance! But this is you! This is _your_ doing! So let me figure out how to navigate my emotions without you whispering in my ear. Let me _grieve_.” 

Lamb wants my prick. He wants someone to control, even though he has an entire kingdom to rule in the states. I don’t think he’s so willing to lose me for something like this. He wants to dig his claws in deeper. He wants to claim me. 

He stalks closer again, and he holds my face between each palm. I’m so disgusted I gag. He quirks a brow. 

I use my eyes to the best of my ability to intimidate him. And when I glare, his grip loosens. 

“Remember who will be here for you, eternally. Remember who will be here in one hundred years’ time.” He presses a kiss to my lips and I push him off me. I almost gag again, but I open the door instead. 

“ _Leave_.”

He saunters towards the exit, but before he steps outside, he turns back to me. “I’ll be back.” 

“Try and you’ll regret it,” I sneer. 

Lamb winks, and I slam the door in his face. 

I’m going to need Aunt Fiona and a strong spell that keeps vampires out of this bleeding house. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* only one more chapter of him, I swear. 
> 
> QotC: How do you feel about Baz finally standing up for himself in this dynamic?
> 
> Until tomorrow!


	21. Chapter 21

**Simon**

I’m supposed to pick Penny, Shepard, and Stevie up at five a.m. and it’s currently half three. I only got home from work about an hour ago, but I know I won’t be able to sleep.

Rosie’s fast asleep on my chest. Her curls are splayed across it, and I pick one up and wrap it around my finger. She’s a peaceful sleeper, even with her snore. Her face goes lax and she’s loose. It’s like nothing can touch her like this. Nothing can scare her. 

Rosie will always be my number one priority—she’s never stopped being the most important person in my life. And I thought that maybe it was time. It was time to find someone who cared for her just as much as I do. And I did. She was so happy when….

I knew it… I figured it out. 

I had it figured out. 

Rosie adored Baz. She looked at him with stars in her eyes. He could’ve hung the moon for her. 

I didn’t realise it at the moment, but I do now. 

Maybe… maybe I could have dated again. And maybe I could have dated Baz. I never considered dating men before. But Baz….

I wish I figured it out sooner. I wish I could have been less oblivious to my own feelings. 

I wish Baz didn’t play me like a sodding violin, but he did. 

And he’s in a relationship. 

Of course he is, and with someone who’s every bit as attractive. 

With someone he can live out centuries with. 

I will die. Rosie will die. He will live on. 

It’s right. It’s fine. 

_It’s fine_. 

“Daddy?” Rosie’s voice croaks with sleepiness, and I glance down at her. She’s awake, but barely. I wipe the sleep from her eyes and she rolls onto me. She buries her head farther into my chest and I kiss the top of her head. 

Rosie’s all that I need at the end of the day. We don’t need anyone else but each other. 

“Daddy, can Dr Grimm go pick up Aunt Penny with us?” She lifts her head and stares at me with those big, brown eyes. 

It aches. My heart. My brain. I don’t want to say no, especially when she’s tired and vulnerable. 

I’m doing this for her, ultimately. 

I never wanted any other person to hurt her, and if it’s my fault, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself. 

“Princess….”

She sits up and bounces a couple of times on my tummy. And then she stops and plants her hands on my chest. “You and Aunt Penny and Dr Grimm can all meet up again! We can have fun! And I can show Aunt Penny the glitter spell. Please?”

When Rosie pouts like she is right now, she almost always gets her way. 

We’re already a broken home. It would screw her up even more if I went to Baz….

He has that… that vampire. 

_Fuck_. 

I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands and sigh. “I’ll ask him, but he’s probably asleep.”

_Don’t be too disappointed, my love. You’ll see him tomorrow._

Why does Baz have to be in a relationship?

“Can you ask now?” She scrambles off of me and I sit up. She’s awake. I’m going to remain awake. I would make breakfast for us—pastries, of course, but I can hear Baz screaming about variety in the back of my head—but I’m going to go to Penny’s and help them with unpacking. She’s uncomfortably pregnant yet, but I want to give her the help. 

“Give me a minute.” I sit up and stretch out. I can feel the magic begin to fade, and my wings are due to pop in a few moments, but I need to wee. Perfect time to pretend to text Baz. 

I grab my phone and walk to the bathroom, “texting.”

It’s a bad idea to pull up his contact, but I do. We texted a lot. He told me a lot of things about work, and I told him about the bakery. He would let me know what Rosie was doing in class, and how she was coping at school. 

While Baz was with us, she was doing so much better. She had maybe two breakdowns at school in the span of a month, but nothing as bad as she usually had before.

That’s what Baz said. 

I sit on the edge of the toilet seat and scroll through our texts. 

So many pictures of them. Of Baz and Rosie. Feathered boas and varnished nails. Stardust and plaited hair. 

Baz taught her **_Some like it hot_** just a few days ago. He videoed it to make sure I could see the moment myself. 

Why did he do this to me? 

Why did he do this to her?

Maybe Penny was right about revenge. And this was it. 

_Don’t think about it._

_Don’t think about it._

_Don’t._

  
  


Rosie’s dozing off, still upright and standing while I button up her coat. I knew she’d be tired, but not so much that she would collapse if I wasn’t holding her by the coat buttons. 

“You can sleep in the car,” I tell her. My hands hover over her for a moment, but when she starts to lean to her right, I place my hands on her shoulders to keep her up. 

“Don’wanna,” she says, but her eyes are closed and I know I’m going to have to carry her and buckle her in. So, I scoop her up and carry her like a baby. 

The drive to the airport is only about thirty minutes, but with how early it is, I’m sure we’ll get there with plenty of time to spare. Rosie can sleep on my shoulder and I can flip through some advertisements a co-worker’s wife put together for the bakery. I need to start posting them on social media. I have accounts set up, but I have yet to advertise. I’m supposed to start posting tomorrow, but I might this morning and pay for the advertisements later. Just so I don’t forget. 

While I drive, I keep an eye on Rosie. I’m zooming down the motorway and she’s fast asleep. Her head’s lolled to the side and every once in a while, she snorts just a bit. Her mouth hangs open when she sleeps sitting up, so at least I can smile at that. 

I haven’t had a good smile in the past several hours. 

When we get there, the board tells me that Penny’s plane is due to land in twenty minutes. Rosie sleeps in my lap while I wait. I post the ads, and instead of dwelling, of going through my phone, instead of thinking. Of thinking about….

I don’t. I run my fingers through Rosie’s hair and close my eyes. I could fall asleep here with her if I really wanted to, but I need to wait for Penny. 

I open Rosie’s hand and look at the lines of her palm. Penny knows how to read them. I heard somewhere that they form in the womb with how the baby squeezes their hands into fists. 

Hers are still soft and new. The lines are defined. When I look at mine, they’re aged and calloused. They’re swordsman's hands. Hers are manicured with sparkly varnish. I kiss the tips of her fingers and sigh. 

She knows I love her, right? That I’m closing contact with him for her heart, right? 

So if things inevitably go wrong, her heart isn’t on the line. 

This is the best choice, right?

“Simon!” 

A pregnant Penelope half-barrels half-hobbles towards me with a chunky-looking toddler in her arms. Her husband, Shepard, follows behind with the suitcases, but he looks just as enamoured with her as ever, even when he’s doing the heavy lifting. He looks happy to be in the UK, even when his homeland is America. (We picked him up on a road trip and he came back to England with us when Penny found a new code to crack: him.) 

I stand up, swinging Rosie onto one of my hips. She groans, but falls right back asleep. I do it just in time for Penny to engulf us, and I wrap my free arm around her and bury my face into her curls. 

She smells like sage and something sweet—I don’t quite know what to call it. But she’s home and I’ve missed her.

“How was the trip?” I ask her once she pulls away, and when she rolls her eyes, I know she has a lot to say. She went to visit Shepard’s mum with Stevie so they could have some family time. Then she found something she wanted to study in the states and stayed for a while. Something about the Quiet Zones in the US that she wanted to learn more about. 

“My mom can be overbearing, and Pen didn’t like the differences in parenting they had.” Shep slings an arm around her and kisses her head. Then, he takes Stevie from her and helps him onto his shoulders. The boy gives me a wide, gapped smile and looks at Rosie. 

“Woesie?” He leans towards her. 

“We should get going,” Penny says, taking the luggage. They have a few bags, so I help out. Don’t want her to overexert herself, and I think she’s too tired to argue with me. (“I’m pregnant, Simon, not disabled.” She said that to me when I tried to help her with simple tasks when she was pregnant with Stevie.) 

Shepard and I don’t talk all that much, even though he’s my best friend’s significant other. I have his number. We all hang out (or did when we weren’t parents). But he likes to observe us. Pen used to reckon it was so he could break our “magic code” or something, but that was before she was soft with him. We all know it’s because he’s absolutely in love with her. (It’s never changed, not a single bit.) 

I’m helping with loading the boot now, and he smiles at me. He’s always so optimistic. “How was your months-long break from us?” 

“All right, I guess. Busy, but I got by.” That’s all I need to say because he’ll probably psychoanalyse any emotional baggage I unload. And it’s saved for Penny. 

I need to talk to her… but she’ll know. She always knows when I’m feeling a certain way, even when I’m trying to block it out. 

They live pretty close to me, even though Shep works closer to London. That was a part of their compromises when they settled down together. Penny needs to stay as close to me as possible for her to stay sane. I think she’d still live with me if she could. But this makes the drive relatively fast and easy. We’re at her house in no time, and the little’uns are asleep. (Shepard looks like he’s about to pass out, too.) 

This is the perfect time for Penny to pounce, and when I park, she grabs my arm. “You’re going to need to tell me everything. You know that, right?”

_Of course I do, Penelope Bunce._ I shrug, but give her a look that makes a smile nestle onto her face. 

We put the kids to bed in Stevie’s room and Shepard passes out in their bedroom. They can unpack later—Penny’s already turned on the kettle and she stands by it, rambling on about Americanisms she can’t stand. 

“Shepard’s mum puts a cup of water in the microwave to warm it up. The _microwave_ , Simon! Kettles are only ten pounds!” She rolls her eyes and adjusts her glasses by pushing them up her nose. “I mentioned this to her, and I said I would buy her one, but she said she’s fine with microwave water.”

It’s good to listen to Penny complain about useless things; it makes things feel so much more… normal. I’m starting to find my equilibrium again. I feel a whole lot less hopeless. 

But then we sit down with our tea at her cluttered kitchen table and the fire in her gaze simmers down. She’s about to grill me and pull every thought from my brain. Even though I need her help… I don’t want to think about it. 

It’s so much easier not to think. 

“How was Baz?”

Whatever look I give her makes her face scrunch up. I know she wants to say, “I told you so,” but she has tact. 

“What did he do?” 

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. She’s going to check me into a psych ward when she hears this. She’s going to laugh, and then ask me if I’m serious. 

“I thought… I thought that maybe it was time for Rosie to have another parent. I was beginning to open up to the idea of dating again.” 

I can hear Penny’s wheels turn and I know exactly when she puts it together. She quietly says, “Oh.” 

When I open my eyes, she’s leaning closer towards me. She’s wanting more. So I give it to her. 

“Baz loves her. Crowley, he really loves her, Pen. And she loves him. She wanted Baz to come with us to pick you up so we three could have a reunion.” I chuckle, but it sounds pathetic. Penny takes my hand. “I wanted to… I wanted to explore the possibility of letting him into my life like that.”

“Are you telling me that you’re gay for your ex-nemesis?” 

Again, I laugh. And it’s so pained, I cringe. It hurts like a cough, and it resonates in my chest. “Until I found out he was just playing with my emotions. I think it was his payback.” 

Penny pulls her hand from mine and dramatically leans forward, pressing her forehead to the wood of the table. “I leave England for two months and you’re in love with your sworn enemy.”

“Not in love,” I quickly correct her, and she sits up and rolls her eyes. 

“I swear to Nicks that I warned you, Simon. But I didn’t think it would get like… like _this_ .” She rubs her hands over her face and sighs heavily. “You need to tell me _everything_ if you want my opinion.” 

There’s that plan I’ve been waiting for. A call to action. 

I missed Penny. 

So, I tell her everything. Starting from the beginning. All of the details. How he made breakfast for me. How he made sure I felt comfortable. How he guided me to bed with his hand pressed to my back. (I can still feel his fingers there; they’re ghosts of possibility and disappointment.) 

I tell her how he’s made me feel things I haven’t felt since I’ve been with Agatha. I was happy with him. 

And then, I told her about… about his boyfriend. About the man that came in and brought in a wrecking ball to our blossoming friendship. 

How I felt betrayed. 

How I’m worried this will affect Rosie. 

Penny usually has interjections, but because she knows how serious I am about relationships, she listens. I can hear the chalk scratching about in her head. I can almost see the blackboard when I look at her. 

When I’m finished with my emotional purge, she says first, “I think it would be good to talk to your therapist once you have the time to.” And then, “Simon, this is not your fault. But also, it is.” 

I gawk at her. Is she really taking his side over _mine?_ Her _best friend’s?_ “Are you being serious?”

“Think about it this way,” Penny says, and she takes my hand in hers. “There was nothing going on between you two. At all. It was a platonic arrangement. You developed feelings along the way. He didn’t owe it to you to tell you he had a boyfriend. You said he was weird about coming out in the first place, right?” 

“Well—”

“It’s his life, Simon. And I know that you’re still hurting after everything, but… his life is his.” 

“Then why was he so nice?” Penny’s not helping—honestly, she’s making it worse. I can feel myself heat up with anger. 

“Because he was babysitting your child and wanting to set a good example—how are you sure you like him?” Penelope’s not trying to argue. I think she’s trying to pick my brain, though. 

But it’s a good question. 

Why do I think I like him?

“Simon, he’s giving you comfort, which is good, but…but maybe you’re reading too much into it. I would say that it would be good to let the dust settle and then think it over again. You still need closure… but forget about it for a while. We can reconvene in a week if you still feel the same way.” 

I hate how good Penny’s gotten at giving advice, but… she’s right. My therapist said it’s good to confront conflict instead of brushing it away. 

I just don’t want to ever look Baz in the eye again.

I don’t want him to see how humiliated I am. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. 
> 
> But good news: I'm currently writing a postive-ish chapter so this pain is slowly coming to an end!
> 
> QotC: What do you think of Penny's opinion on the matter? Would it make sense for her to assume that he liked what Baz was doing for him rather than Baz himself?
> 
> Also I just realised that a chapter about Daddy-Daughter day will be published on father's day. Yay! (Little bittersweet, but cute for the most part.)
> 
> Have a great day!


	22. Chapter 22

**Baz**

I stare at my pale, obviously exhausted visage in the mirror while I pull my hair up into a bun. This past weekend has been miserable. Luckily, Lamb hasn’t come back, but maybe it’s because I never left the house. I  _ should’ve _ gone out to take my mind off of things in a different way. Dev asked me if I wanted to club with him and Niall now that I’m “free.” I hung up when he said it like that.

This isn’t freedom. Freedom is liberation. It’s happiness. It’s a breath of relief. 

This… this is waking up in an empty bed and knowing that it will stay that way. It’s getting up and getting ready to leave for the Snow-Salisbury’s and then remembering you’re not wanted, or texting Simon and erasing the message because he doesn’t want to hear it.

I feel eighteen again, but not in a good way. 

All of Sunday, I remained on the sofa. I did nothing. I stared at the telly and remained unproductive. I hate being useless, but I couldn’t get myself to do anything. I could barely move away from my bed as it was. Reaching the sofa was a feat. 

Monday morning comes around and here I am now, getting ready for the day. When I woke up, I seriously considered calling a substitute and taking a day off. I’m going to see Rosie today, and as much as I want to… it feels like I’m crossing a boundary that Simon set in stone. It’s a wall, and if I were to even so much as look at her, I would knock it down completely. 

But I know Rosie like the back of my hand at this point, and she’s not going to leave me alone. 

She’s going to come in and talk to me about everything she can think of talking about, and then she’s going to ask when I can come over and babysit her again. She’ll come in during recess saying she needs to work on her family tree but won’t and will talk to me the entire time. (She’s been doing that lately, but she  _ is _ almost done with it. It’s due next Monday.) (That reminds me—I need to bring the flowerpot I bought for her project.) Rosie will tell me about her day, and Simon, and how recently, she’s been wanting a cat. 

(Knowing  _ all _ of this depresses me. It reminds me that I came so close. I’m going to have to let it slip away. Maybe I’ll forget it in the next few centuries.) 

I give myself another look in the mirror and sigh. I look put-together, somewhat. Lavender button-down, white trousers. Suspenders. The stubble and dark rims around my eyes serve as the only indicator that I’m not at my best, but the faux glasses help. Only a tad.

The classroom is just the same as ever. Sensory-filled. Easily accessible and diverse books. Bouncy chairs. A large, bright window that looks directly at the playground. But the days are starting later as the year starts to draw to the end. The sun’s just barely peeking over the horizon when I arrive, and I begin unpacking my bags. I have some papers to grade—upper level classes are writing book reports on stories that reflect history in a different way we are taught in school. 

I’m also bringing in holiday decorations at a steady pace. Next Tuesday, all of the GT kids are going to come in and decorate the room. It’ll be an especially good field lesson for Rosie’s class, considering their year’s theme. 

The first half of the day is spent in a mundane manner. I had a conference early in the morning with other teachers associated with GT learning and how we’re going to test children coming into the programme. 

After, I have a class with the fourth years. (At the moment, we’re reading a book together in class.)

Rosie’s class comes in at ten, and she is the first one in the classroom. No one’s following behind her either, and that’s when I realise she’s approaching me, out of breath. My mind almost settles on panicking, but when she smiles, I relax. 

“Please tell me you weren’t running in the corridors. You know you’re not supposed to,” I tell her, and her smile turns into a grin. 

Merlin, I missed that gap-toothed grin. Seeing hers makes me miss Simon’s. 

“I wanted the glitter in my hair,” she says, then turns to the door. I don’t hear any other little feet on the linoleum floors, either, but I can’t risk it. 

“We can’t do that during the school day, Rosie,” I tell her apologetically, and she pouts. 

I miss them. I miss him. I miss her. 

_ There has to be a way. _

“During recess?” she pushes further. 

Just like her father. 

And I can’t find myself to say no. So, I roll my eyes. “Fine. But tell anyone who asks that it’s just glitter and not you know what.” 

She nods and runs back across the room. 

“ _ Walk _ , Miss Salisbury. And you might as well stay. Your class is about to come in.”

Rosie turns back around and  _ runs _ across the room  _ again _ , only to stand behind my desk. As a teacher, this is pestering. As her babysitter, I would ask her if she wants to sit next to me and draw while I grade papers. 

“I wanna draw something during free time today. I have to draw the pot for my family tree and then I’m done.” She leans against the desk, and if it was any other student, I would kindly ask them to go sit down and wait, but Rosie’s reminded me—I open one of my desk drawers and pull out a terracotta plant pot wrapped in a plastic bag. 

“I’ll let you try the glue gun, but I need to watch you do it.” I place the pot on the desk and pull the plastic back. “It will more stable in an actual planter.” 

Rosie’s jaw goes slack, and then she grins. I’m glad she loves the present. “Can I paint it?”

“If you want to, but it’s not necessary.”

By now, the rest of the kids begin to filter into the classroom and congregate on the reading mat. I have a class to teach, so I stand and guide Rosie over to where her other peers are. 

Class passes by in the blink of an eye and Rosie’s officially the first person to finish her family tree project—the creative aspect, at least. She has yet to hang the pictures on the tree, but she said she’s finished those. Now, all she has to do is write a blurb about each person she put on her tree. 

I don’t know what I’ll have her do after she finishes those. Maybe have her draw pictures of things that represent community. It’ll keep her engaged.

But for now, she’s drawing during her free time. She sits in one of those therapeutic ball chairs that she used to not be able to sit in and bounces as she sketches. 

If Simon Snow didn’t hate me again, I would tell him what Rosie’s doing. He’d send that eye-roll emoji. And then I’d tell him that she’s already finished her project and that it’s looking great. 

I almost do tell him. Without realising it, I pulled up our messages. But I put the phone away. I see the children out of the classroom, and then I wait until recess. 

Rosie shows up, pouting. Her eyes are red, too. But she has the same piece of paper she was drawing on earlier in her hands. She puts it down on one of the desks, collapses on a chair, and rests her head on the table. I know the tell-tale signs, so I walk over and crouch by her side before her shoulders start shaking. 

“What happened?” I ask soothingly. I want to rub her back, but I keep myself from doing so. 

“I… I got my folder… my folder signed,” she whimpers, and I almost laugh because I think I know why. But I don’t laugh to spare her feelings. Bless her little soul. 

“Was it for running?” I ask her and decide to take a seat on the floor next to her. I’ll sit in a chair in a minute. 

She nods with her head still on the table. I smile. At least this is her version of “end of the world.” 

“How many times have you been told not to run indoors?”

“Three times,” she squeaks.

“Will you do it again?”

Rosie’s curls bounce when she lifts her head, and she tries to wipe her tears away, but they keep falling. “I just wanted to see you,” she whimpers, and her little voice breaks my heart. 

My smile fades, and I lean forward and hug my knees to my chest. “You can still walk, sweetheart.” 

“I want you to babysit me again. I’m tired of Stevie already,” she bemoans and rests her head on the table again. 

Bunce’s kid. Simon told me about him. Naturally, she would name her kid after Nicks. (Surprisingly, she married a Normal. She’s the last person I thought would ever marry one. It only became acceptable a few years ago.) 

“Didn’t you miss your Aunt?” Anything to get off of this subject—I knew she would talk about it, but I only have a few digressions in my repertoire. 

“Yeah, but I miss you more,” she whimpers… and my face falls further. 

She’s going to make  _ me _ cry now. I sit up straight and pout just a little to sympathise. (Which I do completely—I miss the family dearly.)

But I don’t know what to tell her. Simon clearly said nothing to her about what happened. Knowing her, she would either not talk to me or come at me like a gale force wind if she did know. 

She misses me. She wants me to take care of her. She wants me with her and Simon. 

And she wants two dads. 

How is this distance supposed to be better for her when she’s crying to  _ me _ about it? 

I want to dry those tears. I want to talk to Simon. I  _ wish _ he would listen to me.

“Don't cry,” Rosie says, and when she leans forward, I wipe my eyes. 

I don’t know how much Rosie I can take without imploding. 

“I’ll tell Daddy that I want you to babysit me, and it can be normal again, okay?” Rosie smiles at me, and I feel humiliated for crying in front of a  _ child _ , but it hurts worse when she says it that way. 

Was me babysitting Rosie ever normal in any way? Certainly not, but it was an oddity I cherished. 

_ I’ll get over it. It will be fine eventually. But the bandage just came off and a bit of the scab came up with it. But I’ll be okay.  _

Rosie goes back to drawing and I sit at my desk, trying to grade these reports, but I can’t. Everything else is on my mind, and it all keeps me from thinking straight. My possible promotion. The bakery. Rosie. Simon. Family tree projects. Magic. Christmas. 

Before I realise it, recess is close to over and Rosie stands at my desk with the drawing. She hands it to me and I can’t look at it now. I don’t have the emotional capacity to. I set it down on my desk. 

“Can you do the glitter?” she asks quietly, and she looks at both the window and the door. No one’s paying attention. 

So, I pull out my wand and quickly work my magic. The stardust nestles in her hair beautifully and I slide my wand back into my sock. She beams, and I don’t ever want to see anything else but that smile on her face. She’s too young to be heartbroken, to cry. 

“Thank you,” she says, and she bounds over towards me, wrapping her arms around my neck and burying her face in my chest. I’m so surprised I barely register that she’s hugging me, but when I do, I hug her back. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell her when she pulls away, and she smiles that Simon Snow smile. 

“Okay, I love you.” She hugs me again and I’m so flabbergasted, I barely have the words to stop her from leaving as she skips towards the door. 

“Rosie.”

She turns around, and I swallow. “Don’t worry about talking to your father. I will.” 

“Okay!” She looks happier than ever leaving the room, and I can feel a dull, rattling thump in my chest. 

I can’t get over it. 

The picture Rosie drew is of me, her, and Simon. And a cat in the corner. (Of course. I laugh at it.) 

I can’t get over it or them or the fact that Simon has feelings for me. 

I have to fix it. For Rosie’s sake. For Simon’s. 

It may not help much, but… I text him. 

**We need to talk** .

He texts me several hours later saying,  **Stop using magic on Rosie** .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch.
> 
> At least this pain is slowly coming to an end! (I wrote Lamb's last chapter earlier today!)
> 
> QotC: What are you thinking right now? Use your comments to purge your thought about this chapter, this story, this AU. 
> 
> Have a good weekend! And get ready for the fluff tomorrow! (Long chapter, Daddy-Daughter day for Simon's birthday/ father's day!)


	23. Chapter 23

**Simon**

Waking up this morning almost feels liberating. I open my eyes and look at the time on my phone. I turned my workday alarm off the night before, and considering how I usually naturally wake up on Wednesdays and weekends, I don’t think I’ll need one from now on. Not yet, at least. Not in the limbo between now and when the bakery opens. 

Yesterday was my last working day at the warehouse. I’m still technically an employee until the ninth, but I’m riding out my paid days off. This is a blessing for two reasons: I will get to spend more time with Rosie than I have in years, and I get to hang out at the bakery and potentially help the crew out. (Though the contractor might not let me. I almost stepped into a gallon of paint this past Wednesday.) Either way, I’ll be there overseeing and I’ll definitely be able to help when moving in the counters and other furniture. That’s coming up relatively soon, and I can’t wait for it. 

Things are starting to look up. It’s a breath of relief. 

Today, I’m feeling so giddy that I might call in and tell Rosie’s school she has a family emergency so she can spend some time with me and at the bakery. She doesn’t know the name yet and I know they have the sign up already: Rosie’s. She’s going to love it; I owe its existence to her, after all. My number one passion drove me to find my number two. 

The idea of being able to spend the entire day with her sounds too good to be true, so I decide that I need to make it happen. 

A few more hours of sleep for us. Being able to have a day for ourselves. A daddy-daughter day. 

Merlin, that sounds perfect. 

So, I write myself a note on my phone, power it down, give myself another magickal dose of wing-away, and fall back asleep. 

Rosie wakes me up a few hours later when she takes the liberty of bouncing up and down on me. I thought she would have grown out of this by now, but she’s grinning at me and when my eyes open, she collapses onto my chest. I wrap my arms around her and press a kiss to the side of her head. “Good morning.” 

Missing school days is few and far between for Rosie. The last time she did, she was four and it was because she had a fever. So, I’m not surprised when she asks, “What about school?”

I shimmy up the headboard so I’m sitting up and she crawls off my lap; she picks at the small hole in the knee of my pyjama bottoms. “Well, today’s the first day I don’t have to work, so I wanted to spend it with you.” But I ask her anyway, “Do you want to go to school?” 

For a moment, Rosie stops drawing concentric circles into my knee. “To see Dr Grimm,” she says quietly. 

I want to close my eyes. I almost cringe at his name, and I can feel a familiar ache roll through me. 

It’s been several days now since… and it’s been hard. At least when I allow myself to think about it. 

Penny’s sure I feel this way because he was helping me out at a time of need and I clung to his generosity. And at first, I thought that maybe she was right about that. It made sense, at least. But I’ve gotten so used to him that I swear he’s on the couch asleep sometimes. Or at the kitchen table. 

And Rosie… Rosie loves him. She never stops talking about him. 

His voice is constantly at the back of my head, too. The other day, I couldn’t get myself to go to the cafe, so I got a pumpkin mocha breve at Starbucks. He has something to say about everything I do. He’s like a weed in my brain. He’s taking up space and it’s impossible to get rid of him. 

Do I want to?

But I can’t get myself to talk to him. The other day, he said he wanted to talk. Instead, I told him to close himself off to Rosie. To stop with the magic. 

That’s not any good for her, is it? 

I just don’t want her to hurt later. A little sadness now… it’s okay. It’s fine. But ultimately, it’s for the best. So no one else can hurt her the way Agatha did. I don’t know if I can trust anyone else to be her parent, even if she loves Baz so much. 

He could leave in a second. 

So, it’s hard. 

I can’t even look at Rosie now. She’s perceptive and she’ll know something is wrong. I’ve been good at keeping it quiet.

“You’ll see him tomorrow, Princess.” 

She shifts slightly and leans back, resting her head in my lap. I brush out her hair with my fingers and risk a glance. She’s pouting, and not in her way that gets her anything she wants. “I want to see him every day forever.” 

There used to be a time where I didn’t need to think. A time when I took Agatha back without any consideration of what could go wrong because it felt right. Now that I’m a father, now that I have a little brain that I need to protect from trauma, I can’t just… do something because it feels right. I have to look at it from all angles with Penny’s help. 

I’m still looking at Baz. 

I want to just throw everything away and say fuck it. I want to go back to those days where I acted on something feeling right. 

But I just can’t. I can’t put my heart on the line like that anymore. I need time to think. 

For Rosie. 

For me. 

I _will_ talk to him. Just not today or tomorrow or the next. 

I stopped being angry at him a few days ago. 

Now, I’m just sad, lonely, but guarded. 

He texts me once a day. I hate it. Nothing to push me. I never reply to him. And they’re from the heart. I know it because I know him now. 

He’s kind. He’s loving. He’s genuine. 

But I’m still so scared. 

**I’m sorry.**

**I’m sorry. You don’t have to forgive me, but please know that I didn’t mean to hurt you. Can we please talk so I can explain everything?**

The thing is, I should be apologising for making it an issue. If I wasn’t so caught up in my past, if I wasn’t living in the moment of my eighteen-year-old self… we wouldn’t be here. We’d be talking. 

I would know what he was going to tell me before that… that vampire showed up. 

And in that sense, I do feel justified in the anger I felt. Baz has a vampire love interest. What if his special friend decided to drop in at my house? To talk? Baz doesn’t drink human blood… but Rosie….

This is the point that I shut off my thoughts. I’ll talk to Baz eventually. But when I don’t want to hold his hand. 

Not when I wished that I had worked on impulse and kissed him. 

I must’ve been mulling over this for too long because Rosie’s in my lap again and holding my face between her little hands. She’s trying to make sense of my thousand-yard stares. 

“Did he not tell you?” she asks, and I look her in the eyes. 

“Tell me what?”

“Tell you that because boys can date boys, you two can be boyfriends.” 

I gawk at her—my mouth hangs open and I don’t know if I hear her right. 

_What?_

“What did you say?”

“You and Dr Grimm can be boyfriends. I drew him a picture of us together and a cat. I want a black cat.” She’s grinning like nothing is wrong, and I can’t wrap my head around what she’s saying. 

“Did he say this to you?”

“No.” She climbs back off of me and onto the ground. I should be getting up as well; I stand up and make my way to the kitchen. She must’ve gone into her bedroom, and she returns with her sketchbook. 

When she opens it, there are several pictures she shows me of the three of us. Together. At the bakery. At home. It’s all so domestic. So painful.

_Rosie wants this. How can I say no?_

Enough of this. Enough of the Baz and the heartache and even mentioning him. _Enough_. I dwell on it too much already. 

I sit across from her and close the sketchbook. She whines and almost glares at me, but she reserves it. I think I might’ve made a face.

“I have a game for us. Do you want to hear it?”

Rosie’s smart, so she might see through it. But she’s also seven. She does give me an apprehensive look that is— _Crowley_ —Baz influenced, but nods anyway. 

“If you don’t mention Baz once today, I’ll get you a Barbie. Anyone you want. What do you think of it?” 

Knowing Rosie’s nuances, I can tell she already accepts this game, but she still rubs her chin and looks around the room like she’s thinking. After a few seconds, she sticks her hand out and we shake on it.

I can’t believe I just bribed my daughter.

Posing it as a game definitely helps, though, and she puts her sketchbook away. She comes back into the kitchen and heads to the pantry. 

Time to bake. 

While we work, Rosie doesn’t have much to say. It might be because I’m letting her take charge in the baking for once. She’s wanted to do it for a while now, so I’m standing aside and letting her work her magic. I’m not surprised by how good she is—measuring, scraping off the excess from the top of the measuring spoons, cracking the eggs—but she still manages to impress me by going through the motions without second thought.

She’s like me in that way. Not thinking it over. But she makes her own plans and is confident in them. That’s where Penny’s influence comes in. 

Regardless of her influences, she’s still her own little person. She’s not me, or Agatha, or Penny, or Baz. She’s Rosie. She’s magic. I hope she knows I love that about her. 

When she starts kneading the dough, I pull out my phone and take a picture of her. She’s such a natural—Baz needs to see this. 

I pull up his contact and I almost send it. Almost. 

Merlin, even _I_ can’t go an hour without thinking about him.

At least it reminds me to call in for her. I do, and then I send Penny a picture and tell her we’re having a daddy-daughter day. 

When it comes to letting the dough rest, Rosie steps down from her stool, kicks it toward the sink, and washes her hands. “Daddy, can you help me with the apron?”

I untie and take it from her, and then I hang both of ours up. Now, to wait at least an hour. 

Rosie’s about to slip into the living room, but before she can, I swoop her up into my arms. She squeals in delight as I pepper kisses on the side of her head and cheeks and I stop when she almost kicks me in the jaw. 

“ _Daddy!_ ” she squeals and I hold her tighter. 

Even when I’m not feeling my best, Rosie’s here. She’ll never abandon me. She fills my heart up with so much love, I forget all of my problems in the first place. 

I give her one more kiss on the cheek and shift her in my arms so I’m holding her like a baby. “Do you want to see the bakery while we’re waiting for the dough to rise?”

She grins, and I already know her answer. She scrambles down from my arms and within a few seconds, she slams her bedroom door behind her. 

I guess I should get dressed as well. 

As I go through my wardrobe, I decide that I’m going to donate my clothes. I need a new wardrobe. I don’t quite have the money for it yet, but I’ll get there. 

Knowing I’ll get there definitely lifts my mood further. 

Despite those few moments, I’m going to have a good day. Me, Rosie, and the bakery. 

I’m not too concerned about what I’m wearing today—when do I ever actually care?—because it’s cold out, so a jumper and joggers is a perfectly reasonable outfit to wear outside. 

Rosie, on the other hand, is in a tutu. Per usual. But she’s wearing woollen stockings and she has a coat over her leotard. I grab her a sweater and mittens just in case. 

“Is there anything you want before we leave? I’m going to get out and talk to the contractor for a minute.” I wrap the scarf around her neck and loosen it so I can see her little face. 

“Can you do the glitter?”

She technically didn’t mention Baz, so I’m not going to end our little game, but it makes me think of him. He really spoiled her with that, and she came home with it in her hair the other day, too. 

“I can try, but you know how I am.” And it’s embarrassing, but she’s proving to be an excellent mage. Penny says she’s starting to spout out spells all of the time, even when it’s not necessary. But she’s good, especially for her age. 

She runs back to my room and comes back, wand tip down when she hands it to me. I take it from her and sigh. I _really_ don’t like using spells on other people, so I hand the wand back to her. She looks confused. 

If worst comes to worst, I’m sure Penny could fix her up. I’m trying to figure out what kind of issue or double meaning could be behind the spell. 

“Do you know how to do it?” I ask her, and she nods. A little hesitantly, but there’s still confidence in the way her shoulders are rolled back. 

“Have you tried it before?” I question her further, and I can’t help but think, _I’m sorry your father’s incompetent_.

“On a pillow. It got really glittery. Can I do it on myself?” 

I kneel down in front of her and give her free hand a reassuring squeeze. “You can.” 

Rosie takes a deep breath, exhales, and points the tip of her wand at her hair. “ **_Drops of Jupiter_ **.” 

Like me, Rosie has just a bit of gusto behind her magic. It’s not so strong that it would make her _go off_ , but it’s enough to coat her hair in sparkles rather than a light dusting. That might just be because she’s new to casting spells. 

(I need to ask her what it feels like, but I certainly know what her magic smells like—strawberries and cream. It’s light and sweet.) 

“Did I do it?” she drops the wand and runs over to the bathroom. Then—

“Daddy! I put too much!” 

I chortle and make my way to the bathroom. I peek in; Rosie’s trying to scrub it out of her hair but it won’t go away. 

“It takes practise,” I tell her, and she frowns at me. 

“People can’t know I’m magic!”

“They won’t. They’ll just think you dunked your head into a container of glitter.”

The look on Rosie’s face is conflicting. She’s furrowing her brow, but she’s smiling just the same. 

“Are you ready to go?”

She sighs and walks past me and back into the living room. “I _guess_.”

On our way to the bakery, I get the two of us Starbucks. When I came the other day, I found out that breves don’t have caffeine and the drink I got is certainly up Rosie’s alley. _Very_ sweet. I watch her through the mirror now and she’s lapping up the whipped cream from the top of the cup. 

An absolute sugar fiend. 

When I reach the bakery, the contractor is standing there with a few men. They’re looking down at something, but I’ll find out in a moment. 

Right now, I’m looking at the face of the store. 

If I didn’t know the inside was empty, I would’ve thought it was open. I knew the building would look homey, but it’s so much so that it’s like there’s an open invitation to anyone who passes it. (It’ll be that way soon, but for now, the doors are locked.) 

This is Rosie’s first time seeing it, so when she leans over to take a look out of the window, she gasps. “It looks like a fairytale!” 

She doesn’t hesitate to unbuckle, and she begins to pull on the door handle like her life depends on it. 

Now would be a good time to get out. 

Rosie hops out of the car when I open her door and she takes my hand, attempting to drag me forward. Instead, I reel her into my arms and prop her on my hip. “Hold your horses, kiddo. There’s something I want you to see.” 

She doesn’t get what I mean at first. She looks directly at the sign; it’s in cursive so she won’t be able to read it yet. But she’s taking it in. 

“What does that say?” she asks me, and when I smile, her little head tilts to the side like a dog’s. 

“It’s your name. It’s Rosie’s. I named the bakery after you.” 

Right now, Rosie is just excited to have her name on a building. She squirms down from my arms so she can run up to the window and peek in. She bounces on the balls of her feet. 

In years to come, I hope this translates out for her. I made this bakery for her. She’s my inspiration. 

This is my ode to the person who changed my life. To the person who taught me to hold my temper and have tact. She shaped me into someone eighteen-year-old me would have never thought I would become. But here we are. Here she is, grinning at me.

She’s my sun. Everything in my universe revolves around her and I surrender to the gravitational pull. I’d do anything to keep her this happy. 

“Hey, Snow.” 

Every time the contractor uses my last name, I take a moment. My last name used to be reserved for one person only. Now, many people use it. 

I’m especially vulnerable to it now, but it’s only the person putting my dreams together. He’s waving me over, and he’s wearing the smile of someone who’s got good news. 

“All right?” I ask him and he’s smirking now. What? 

“Tip-top. We’re getting all of the furniture and equipment tomorrow. It should only take a couple of days to install. Leave us to doing that, but if you want to help move things in….”

“I thought that you said it would be the ninth earliest,” I say, and when I look back at my bakery, a wave of excitement hits me. I’m grinning. 

“Well, if you desperately wanted to open on Sunday, you could.” He claps my shoulder and shakes it a little. “We got a lot done earlier. I can’t wait to see what it looks like when it’s ready to open.” 

“I’ll send you a picture… and a complimentary loaf of bread.” 

We both laugh at this. 

“Daddy, can we go in?” Rosie runs up to me and I scoop her up in my arms. She kisses my cheeks, and then she turns to look at the contractor. He smiles at her, and she does back, but she loses it rather quickly—as soon as she looks away from him. “I wanna tell you where things need to go.” 

“Well—okay. Is it unlocked?” I turn to the contractor and he nods. 

“Didn’t bring your key?”

“Slipped my mind. Thank you.” 

Rosie slips out of my arms again and takes me by the hand, pulling me towards the front door. It opens with a jingle, and as soon as the door closes behind her, she turns back to me. 

“I don’t like him.” 

“He’s the person who pulled the bakery together.” 

She rolls her eyes and paces towards the middle of the room. “Okay. Well, I don’t like him.” 

I think I might know what she’s going on about, and I don’t allow myself to think about it further. 

Instead, I sit in the middle of the floor and allow Rosie to poke her nose about. 

I stare up at the wrought iron chandelier and sigh. 

On Sunday, I’ll bring Rosie in to help with the finishing touches. I can already see how it’s starting to come together. The coffee brown walls and cream baseboards warm the room up, and the chandelier above my head gives it a cottagey feel. I can’t wait until everything else is installed. I’ll definitely come in and help them to speed up the process. 

I haven’t felt so excited in months. 

  
  


+++

I’m flipping through the telly, seeing if there’s anything worth watching on. The day is winding down. 

After going to the bakery, Rosie and I spent some time in the park. It was a bit cold, so after a couple of minutes of me pushing her on the swing, we decided to collect some leaves so she could make some impressions in her sketchbook. We left after that and continued with our bread when we got home. For her first time making bread on her own, she did amazing. We used it for toasties. 

(I almost stop flipping through the channels and stay on the cooking show I noticed so she can take notes; I don’t because I don’t want to distract Rosie from what she’s already doing.) 

The rest of the day was spent on watching Disney princesses. Well, until Rosie said she needed to work on something.

She brought out a planter and she’s been sketching on it for the past two hours. It’s amazing watching a little tornado cycle without moving. Her focus is insane when she gets into her work. It’s for her family tree project. 

She’s just now starting to come to a finish because she’s adding smaller strokes to what she’s already drawn. “Do we have paint?”

Rosie sets the pot on the floor, stands, paces back, and lays down on the ground. I think she’s trying to get another perspective of the planter. The view is funny, so I chuckle. 

“We don’t. Do you at school?”

“Yeah.” Rosie sighs and sits up. “I wanted to finish tonight.” 

“Did you already write the summaries?” 

Instead of answering right away, Rosie stands and takes her pot to her room. She brought it home in a bag and worked a little bit on it last night, but really took her time today. Apparently she doesn’t even have to paint it, either. 

Rosie just happens to always take the extra step. 

She runs back out and hops on the sofa. 

“You know you’re not supposed to do that,” I tell her and she gives me an apologetic look before climbing her way into my lap. I wrap my arms around her waist and she rests her head on my shoulder. 

“I wrote that you’re my daddy for my summary. And that you make the best bread ever. And that you love me and I love you.” She wraps her arms around me and I smile into the top of her head. 

How am I so lucky, getting this little girl? How was I able to have such an amazing daughter? 

“Well,” I say, kissing her curls, “I love you more.” 

This is another game we like to play. She sits up—and I almost bite my tongue off because she sits up so fast her head hits my chin—and grins deviously. 

“I love you most.” 

“I love you mostest.”

She puts her hands over my mouth and gives me a look that reads, _Don’t try me._

“Well, I love you mostestest.” 

I pry her hands off of my mouth and kiss her knuckles. “That is impossible, my love.” 

That daring look in her eyes get soft and she rests her head on my shoulder again. I run my hand up and down her back and she says, “No it’s not.” 

Rosie will never know how deep my love for her is. 

“Have I told you you're an amazing person?” 

Her nose buries into my neck. 

I just smile. 

She falls asleep like this while I’m watching a cupcake show on Netflix, and when her arms go slack and fall to her sides, I put her to bed. I kiss the top of her head and pull the sheets over her, giving the proper tucking I never received as a child. 

When I get back to the sofa, I notice my phone screen’s on. I pick it up, sit down, and read the notification. 

It’s from Baz. 

**Is Rosie okay?**

I ignore him and remind myself to take Rosie to the store to pick out her Barbie tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make sure the fluff makes up for the sadness in this chapter since it's father's day and Simon's birthday, so please take this father-daughter fluff!
> 
> QotC: Do you think Simon's wearing down? Who do you think will make the first move towards talking? 
> 
> ALSO I would love to thank Mo for this art!! I legit started crying when I saw it!!
> 
> You can follow his Tumblr [here](https://pinkhairandbubblegum.tumblr.com)!
> 
> I hope you have a great day and don't forget to wish a happy birthday to your favorite dragon boy!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of NSFW

**Baz**

The week has drawn to an end; I managed to get through it without being unproductive, but as soon as I got home on Friday, I collapsed on my couch and refused to wake up until about three in the afternoon on Saturday. I woke up to a text from Dev, inviting me out again. 

At first, I was about to turn him down. But several hours later, I’m sitting with him and Niall at a club. It’s lowkey, yet upbeat. It’s not so loud we have to scream over the music to chat, but loud enough to keep unwanted ears from hearing our conversation. No need to cast our little privacy spell. 

We’ve only been here for thirty minutes, but it’s been long enough for Dev to suggest shagging at least ten men who have passed by our table. He thinks it may be a solution for me to get Simon Snow off of my mind. 

“I still can’t believe you were an over-glorified governess for the Chosen One’s kid. I can’t believe he  _ had _ a kid, with Agatha Wellbelove nonetheless,” Niall says now as Dev allows his eyes to linger on yet another man that passes by. 

I told them the basics; they already know I’m head over heels for him. They learned that before I went off to Oxford. I think they’re just both surprised that after all of this time, I still feel the same. 

“Why do you say it that way?” I ask, sipping from my drink. Something sweet; I can’t really stomach alcohol otherwise. The wine Simon and I drank all of those nights ago was one of those dessert wines. 

Dev gives Niall a look that might as well scream, “Don’t say it.”

He does anyway. 

“Simon Snow’s an attractive bloke, but he’s just so—”

“So what?” I sneer, and Dev rubs his temples. 

“I told you not to say anything,” Dev hisses.

I look between the two of them. “ _ What _ ?”

“I can’t imagine you ending up with a winged mess. You’re the epitome of elegance, mate.” Niall finishes off his whiskey and slams his glass on the table. 

“Sorry, I don’t think I asked you to judge my love interest,” I say cooly, drinking down my cocktail. I slam my glass against the table, too, except it breaks. 

Both Dev and Niall jump back, and Dev glares at his counterpart. “I told you not to say anything!”

“Aren’t we supposed to snap him out of this bullshit? He’s in love with the enemy!”

“There aren’t  _ any _ enemies anymore!” I snap, and again they look somewhat intimidated. “He is a man, a  _ man _ filled to the brim with love and passion. He works his ass off to protect the people he loves and… and he’s different now.”

“Not so different that he gives you the time of day to explain yourself.” Dev rolls his eyes, and I ball my fists in my lap. I’m beginning to regret going out with them. “You two weren’t even together—imagine if you were.”

“I would  _ not _ be sleeping with  _ someone else _ if I were in a  _ relationship _ ,” I spit, then stand. The chair skids back and falls, but the music’s volume lessens the shock of impact. Now, Niall looks vexed at Dev. 

This night has just gone swimmingly, hasn’t it? 

I should’ve slept more. They woke me up from a good dream. 

I place an adequate amount of money on the table, too much, and I find my way to the exit. Any more time in here and I would certainly burn the building down. 

Why did I agree to go out?

As soon as I step out of the club, I feel disoriented. It’s so quiet, it’s almost deafening. But it’s morosely quaint. 

The streetlights line the strip’s pavement and a chilly wind rolls through the street. I could just go home, but walking would clear my head. 

And I need something other than alcohol in my system.

So, I pull my Burberry coat tighter around my body and begin to walk against the grain of people heading to the restaurants, clubs, night events. 

There are so many couples, I notice while walking. 

Hand in hand. All smiles. Some share kisses. It might be the warmth of the season in their hearts, or the romantic feel of huddling as the first snow of the year begins to dance in the air. A few flakes catch between my lashes, and then I look up. 

Sure enough, snowflakes sway with the wind. 

I wonder if Rosie’s seeing this. Now that Simon’s home with her, they’re probably spending as much time with each other as they can to make up for lost time. 

If Simon weren’t so stubborn, maybe I’d be there with him. If Lamb hadn’t come in….

_ I was going to tell him. _

Just before I can pass the streetlights and find my way toward unlit territory, I turn and recognise where I am. 

I’m standing in front of Alice’s, and if I walk just a bit further, I’ll reach the cafe. 

Our cafe. 

Is it fair to call it our cafe anymore? After Lamb tainted it?

I find myself walking through the door anyway, and I allow my coat to relax on my body. 

“When do you close?” I ask the employee when she glances in my direction. 

“You’re all right,” she tells me, standing behind the cash register. “What would you like?”

I can’t get myself to sit at the same table— _ our _ table. For a moment I stare at it. It looks depressingly vacant. A single light hangs above it, and though the chairs are pushed in, one of the chair’s shoulders is nudged out slightly—like someone planned to sit there, but decided against it. 

“Here’s your drink.”

The employee gives me no time to thank her. She’s back in a corner with her phone. I guess it’s not that busy at this time. 

I find myself a window seat and watch the scenery beyond the glass. The snow’s falling at a heavier, steadier pace at this point. It’s beautiful, but it rouses this melancholia that manifested ten years ago. 

It’s close to the day that I found out what truly happened to my mum. 

It’s close to the day where Simon killed the Mage. 

I sit here, staring out the window numbly, hoping Simon found his peace with that. With what happened. At this point, I have. Technically, my mum’s death has been avenged. 

Doesn’t mean it hurts any less. 

Is Rosie okay?

It’s different to have a parent die versus having a parent choose to leave you. 

In some cases, Mum  _ did _ choose to leave me. She couldn’t bear being a vampire. 

But Agatha couldn’t bear being a wife—a mother. 

Is Rosie doing okay?

I take a sip of my coffee and close my eyes. This can’t be any good for me, dwelling on all of this, but it’s hard not to when you’ve fallen for a life that you’ve never been a part of—that you never  _ thought _ you’d be a part of. But here I am, there I was, so close to finding something that made sense and felt right. 

It hasn’t been easier. I don’t know when I’ll get over the Snow-Salisburys. 

When I was younger, I was hopeless. But I didn’t expect anything back. Now that I know that feelings were reciprocated, it brings about a different emotion. 

It’s painful.

The feeling makes my dead heart bleed. 

I finish my coffee and push the cup aside. My head rests against the window as I watch the pavement turn white. A girl and her girlfriend are walking together and one of them slips a little. Her girlfriend catches her and they giggle and hold onto each other a little tighter. 

If things hadn’t gone wrong, where would we be now? Snow doesn’t have a fireplace, but I could probably magick one. I can imagine oranges and yellows sparkling in those small-paned windows right now, and little tufts of smoke puffing from an imaginary chimney. 

Has Simon gone Christmas shopping for Rosie yet? 

This isn’t healthy. Drowning myself in these thoughts is going to kill me—figuratively. In reality, it’s turning me bitter. 

Yet, these thoughts ebb and flow. Emphasis on the flow as I watch more couples pass my window.

A few minutes later, I walk out of the cafe and readjust my scarf with the gust of wind that nearly makes me lose it. It’s almost bone-chilling, so I pull on my gloves as well and stroll along the strip. I dip into Alice’s for dinner—just takeaway. 

As I continue down the pavement and toward my car, I begin to imagine what would be happening if the family was with me right now. Rosie would no doubt be ahead of us, and I’m sure her head would be tilted back and her tongue stuck out so she could taste the snow. Simon and I would share a look. And if things went my way— _ our _ way—I would take his hand.

At some point, Rosie would get between us and she would swing our arms as we walked about. 

This isn’t my reality. Now, I’m standing at the car, ready to climb in. 

Someday, it will hurt less. Someday, I will be able to cherish the time we had together. For now, I allow myself to hurt.

I almost text Simon before I take off again, but the amount of blue on the screen reminds me that he’s not going to answer. So I slip my phone into my jacket and drive home. 

The front door’s cracked open when I reach my complex, and just when I thought he was out of my hair, he’s back. 

Knowing Lamb, it’s not quite surprising to see him here after I had a tiff with my blokes, but after everything, after making myself  _ very  _ clear the last time I saw him, he’s still here. 

_ He’s going to regret it. _

Never again, I said then, and never again I say now. I may have lost what I wanted, but letting him back in is weak. It’s hiding behind what I had done. It’s isolating myself further and I won’t do that anymore. I will  _ not _ allow him to do that to me anymore. 

Anger’s beginning to linger in my chest and nausea in the pit of my stomach. 

I feel sick just knowing that he’s going to be in there, and I’m compelled to call Aunt Fiona and let her take care of business, but I don’t want a bunch of angry American vampires at my neck. 

(I’ll still inform her after this, just so she can scope out his situation, but I want to take care of him myself.) 

(I have a plan.)

Though I’m sickened by his presence, I’m also sadistically excited. 

Time to rid myself of this vermin. 

I climb out of my car and lock it—I don’t allow it to honk. I want to be fluid, use his ammunition against him. 

Incorporeal. Beautiful. Liquid. 

He’s not on my sofa, but when I reach my room, here’s there: naked, alluring, using his sparkle. That look's in his eyes when he’s ready to feast. 

Step one, feed into it. 

I shimmy off my suspenders and stalk over, unbuttoning each button one by one. He’s grinning now, that crazed look of success burning in his eyes. 

_ Just you wait, motherfucker _ .

“I knew you’d come back to me,” he purrs, and I come closer. My clothes are off, but I straddle him with my pants on. 

He doesn’t deserve to see me naked. That’s not his place anymore; it should have never been. 

As much as I want to stop here, I know I need to keep going. I place my hands on his chest and his hands meet my waist. 

_ I just need to get you vulnerable. I need you drunk on emotion. _

Step two, make him vulnerable.

So, I begin to swivel my arse against him. He’s rock hard in a minute, but I want him needy. I need him right under my thumb. 

Just as he’s about to come, I stop. His breath hitches, and I grin. 

“You’re going to deprive me, now?” he groans, and he’s trying to keep it going, but I don’t allow it. I stand on my knees so I’m completely off of his crotch. He’s trying to pull me back down so he can finish. 

Step three, strike.

I remove my hands from his chest and flex my wrist. A bright blue flame hovers above my palm, and his breath hitches—for different reasons. A thin layer of sweat immediately collects along his hairline.

He tries to scramble out from under me and sputters like a fool. As easily as I could fetch my wand and spell him to the headboard, I find it more fun to use my strength to pin down his wrist. 

“ _ What _ are you?” he finally manages to coherently ask, and my grin is so wide, I can feel it take up most of my face. 

Instead of answering him, I allow the now-orange flames to snake between my fingers. He seems both mesmerised and horrified by the amount of control I have with my fire. I bring it closer to his face and he screams. 

“ _ WHAT ARE YOU _ ?!”

“A fucking Pitch,” I spit, and I think this is when he realises that he’s messed with the wrong person. Now, the flame’s right under his nose. He’s writhing in my grip, and if he keeps moving like he does, he may as well go up in flames. 

When we first met, Lamb was not shy to express his hatred for the Pitches. The family that either suppressed or killed vampires and drove them out of England. 

Lo and behold, he was fucking one. 

“Let me go,” he howls now, sweating from the heat of the flame. I yet again bring it closer. He’s actually crying. 

It’s glorious to see. I shouldn’t feel good doing this. But I do.  _ I _ have the upper hand now. After years spent under this thumb. 

“Do you promise that you’ll never come near me again?” I growl in his ear, finally extinguishing my fire. 

Lamb nods feverishly. 

“Do you promise you’ll  _ never _ interfere with my life again?” 

He nods again.

“Lastly, do you promise you’ll  _ never _ interfere, touch, get near to, or associate yourself with Simon, Rosie, and anyone related or close to them?”

“ _ Yes _ , Baz! Let me go!” 

“We’re shaking on it,” I hiss, and he nods. 

He’s frantic—anything to keep himself safe. 

I don’t know if this is going to work, but I find my wand and as we shake, I cast, “ **_Cross your heart, and hope to die_ ** !”

The spell may not even work on vampires, but I think Lamb believes it does. He’s so pale, you could mistake him for a ghost. 

I’ve never seen him try to leave so fast. He scrambles to pull his trousers up and gives up on his belt. His shirt’s not even buttoned by the time he leaves, and when he does….

It’s like standing in a room where a successful exorcism’s just been performed. 

The air’s clear and it’s not nearly as heavy as it has been. It doesn’t smell like incense, but….

Lamb’s  _ gone _ . He’s not coming back.

I’m  _ free _ . 

Yet, I double down on my efforts. 

I call Fiona and tell her about this pesky American vampire that hasn’t left me alone for the past several years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! BE GONE, RODENT!
> 
> How are y'all feeling? Because I was having a little too much fun with Baz...pretty much torturing Lamb.
> 
> QotC: What do you think is going to happen now?
> 
> I just like hearing predictions!!
> 
> Have a good day!


	25. Chapter 25

**Baz**

This morning has been better than the most I’ve had in the past week, and it may be because holiday is just around the corner. Or, because Aunt Fiona’s going to come home for it. I don’t spend the entirety of my holiday with family, but I spend a good chunk of it there. Now that my siblings are a bit older, it doesn’t have the same magic. Not as when all of the children believed in Father Christmas… but it’s nice to see my family. 

As much as I’d love to spend more time with them, I don’t. My opinions and viewpoints began to shift from theirs when I was in college. My father said that was typical college student behaviour and that I’d come back to my senses at some point, but here I am years later, getting ready to teach some Normal children. 

It’s still good to see my siblings, though. They’re far more open-minded than even I was at their age. I’m glad they’re learning. (I wish I had learnt earlier.)

Only one more week. Then we have our holiday. 

A needed one, and I’m giddy to pass the week with movies and fun activities after today. (All of the large projects and late work are due today. The projects are fun, though. I’m excited to get through them.)

Because I’m feeling a bit more festive than usual, I want to dress it. That’s the fun thing about being a teacher—you get to dress up within professional means. (But on Halloween, I do up the vampire look. No one suspects a thing.) 

As much as I would like to get Christmassed up, red and green are reserved for tomorrow. So, I go for navy and gold with floral details. Festive, but subtly so. 

Even arriving at school, I feel monumentally better. Like a weight has been lifted off my back. (And I guess some has been, with Lamb and all.) This newfound happiness fills me with energy. I could probably power through anything today, but I have a lot to do.

I’ll use said energy to be productive. I’m almost done with the book reports, and then I need to work on some autobiographies. The kids had a lot of fun with that project. 

And I’ll be receiving the family trees today. 

That high I’m feeling sinks slightly when I think of it. I glance at the windowsill and see Rosie Salisbury’s tree sitting there. She has all of the pictures she drew in a plastic bag, ready to hang. 

Her planter’s painted with colours of the rainbow, and I wonder if it’s on purpose or just a child enjoying the vibrant aesthetic. It’s lovely, either way, and I can’t wait to see what she has planned, even if it will hurt to read through it. 

It’s getting easier with each day that passes. With each day I don’t get a text back, or a phone call telling me that he wants to talk.

I don’t know if that will ever come, but I’ll carry on eventually.

I’ll have to. 

The day begins with a conference period that is essentially free time. So I work on my grading. A few older students come in to work on late assignments. 

The fourth years finish the book we were reading the past couple of weeks, and after a few discussion questions, they spend their free time colouring, drawing, reading, or watching Frosty the Snowman. 

Per usual this past week, Rosie is the first person in class by at least five minutes. I figured out that she’s been skipping bathroom breaks after talking to her homeroom teacher on Friday, so when she walks into my room early, I glance up at her and quirk a brow. 

“You know, Miss Salisbury, you should use restroom breaks for using the restroom, not to make sure you’re early to class. Even if your punctuality is admirable.”

She comes up to my desk and leans against it. “What?”

“You should use the loo on your restroom breaks. You see me fifty minutes a day. Aren’t you tired of seeing your mean, old GT teacher?” I smile softly at her and tuck the autobiographies into their appropriate folder. 

Rosie shakes her head. “I’m never tired of seeing you,” she tells me, and my heart melts a little. 

“How about this,” I tell her, keeping my mind from lingering on her words, “if you use the restroom with your classmates, I’ll give you a sweet each time. Will you want M&M’s?”

Am I really bribing my pupil?

But her eyes grow wide and she nods. She almost starts heading back to meet with her class, but then she turns around. “Can we start tomorrow?” 

I chortle but nod my head. “Sure. Any luck on getting your father to get a kitty?”

Sometimes, it’s easier to dissociate Rosie from who she is and who she’s related to, like when we talk about cats. Simon and I never talked about it, so I don’t connect it back to him. The cat’s such a Rosieism, and she could talk about her plans all day. 

She tells me that she thinks she’s wearing him down. (Knowing Simon, she probably is.) And that she’s got at least twenty names she wants to pick from. I suggest that maybe she could get twenty cats. (She may have taken it too seriously.)

The conversation ceases when her other classmates collect on the reading mat, and we move forward with class. 

After spending a few minutes on giving instructions, the children spread out across the classroom. Some children are frantically trying to pull together what they have. Others are adding final touches. 

And then there’s Rosie, who is already done. She’s got most of the pictures hung up on each branch, but it’s like she’s on pause. Her hand is hovering one of the drawings, like she’s deciding if she should include it or not, and when she notices me watching, she waves me over. 

She’s only sitting a few feet from my desk. I walk to her and crouch. 

“Is something the matter?” 

Rosie points to a picture. “I don’t think I wanna have her here.” 

I look to where she’s pointing and it’s of a picture of Agatha.

Just by giving a quick glance at the tree, I can tell she’s paid a lot more attention to detail with the others she’s drawn. Agatha’s image looks half-hearted at best, and when she hands me the picture, I turn it around to look at her blurb. 

It reads:  _ “She is my mom.” _

Nothing more. 

“Does she feel like family to you?” I ask her, handing back the picture. 

Instead of answering me, she tears up the picture. 

I’m so surprised, I gawk. 

“I don’t think she loves me,” she says, handing me the paperclip. She empties the mess into my hands, and then, she stares at her tree again. Like she’s blocked me out. 

I can already feel a fit brewing like a storm, so I sit down next to her. “Are you done?”

“No.” She won’t look at me.

“What do you need to do to finish?”

“Hang the pictures.” 

I can do that. She only has a couple left to hang. 

“Would you like to go and read? Or draw? I can hang the last pictures.” I lean over and toss her trash into the bin. When I look back in her direction, she’s already heading towards the nook. 

She’s been doing so well….

But I pick up her things and head to my desk. I may as well grade it now. 

I sit and place the tree on the desktop. The pictures hanging—Penny, Alice, Simon’s boss—sway slightly. I rotate the tree just a little and I notice a picture of the woman that I assumed was Simon’s mother. Curious about what she could write about her, I turned the picture around and read, “ _ My grandma was strong. She loves my daddy. I want too meet her _ .”

I never asked Simon about her. I didn’t want to tread on something so heavy, but I should have. He poked and prodded and I was malleable with it. 

I wished I had asked more questions….

After searching the tree a bit more, I notice Simon isn’t on here, so he must be one of the pictures I’m holding. I turn one around without reading it.

A drawing of pale skin, a widow’s peak, and grey eyes stare back at me. For a moment, I don’t know how to process this; too many things are running through my mind. My heart swells with joy and deflates with pain, and I want to hug Rosie and tell her that she’s such a sweet girl. But… but she can’t put me on her tree. 

She… what would parents think? Colleagues, especially? She’s very obviously not my child, and people who work with me know I’m single.

She can’t hang this. And I can’t avoid Simon anymore. 

He can’t avoid  _ me _ . 

I manage to find a teacher on break to come in and watch the students for a moment and make my way to the breakroom. No one’s in here, and after making sure of it, I lock the door behind me. 

It would make more sense to call on my work phone because he would most likely actually answer, but he needs to know. 

Now.

(And it might be my desperation making me think this way. This  _ is _ painfully unprofessional.)

I don’t know when I put Simon’s number on speed dial, but it only takes me seconds to call him.

And seconds for him to decline. 

I call him again. 

He declines. 

Third time’s a charm, and when he answers, he says, “Baz—”

“Simon Snow, you ignorant oaf, this is not about me!” 

Simon stops for a minute, but I can hear him breathing through his mouth and I shiver. It’s odd to hear over the phone. But it’s also catching up to me. He’s answered, and I can hear his voice. He’s right there. I want to pull him through the phone and into my arms.

“Is Rosie all right?” he asks me. I snap out of it. 

“Could be better, but it’s about her family tree and this is a matter of me being her teacher and finding what she’s created to be inappropriate.” 

“Now, how could a seven-year-old make something—”

“I’m requiring a conference between the two of us. The sooner the better. Preferably today. Got it?”

Simon mutters, “I’ll see you at eleven.” 

He hangs up. I close my eyes. My hands feel numb and my eyes are itchy. I’m not crying, but I’m emotionally charged. I could use a few more minutes in here, by myself, but I need to get back to my kids. And I need to talk to Rosie. Make sure she’s all right. 

Before I leave the break room, I pull Rosie’s picture from my pocket and look at it for a moment. 

_ It’s lovely, dear _ , I think.  _ I wish it was true—I wish I was a part of your family tree _ . 

Rosie’s fine when I get back to the classroom. She’s reading. I thank the teacher for watching the kids for a second, and then I slip back into my desk. I keep my picture in my pocket and add Simon’s to the tree. 

She gets a perfect score, and I go back to the autobiographies. 

  
  


Rosie goes back to class with her peers, thankfully, but she says she’ll come back for recess. I tell her that I’m a playground monitor this week, and she makes me promise to watch her dance with a couple of girls who also take ballet. 

I finish up the autobiographies and I start on the family trees but stop mid-grading when someone knocks on the doorframe. 

When I look up, I find Simon Snow standing there in jeans and an emerald green woollen pullover. He looks great, as he always does. He’s almost glowing, and as I stare at him, I wonder… has he missed me at all? 

  
  


**Simon**

Baz is dead handsome as always, especially in what he’s wearing today. He’s not wearing his glasses, but I like the floral on his shirt.

I can tell that he’s feeling something, and Merlin, I want to sit down and ask him twenty questions. Starting off with: “How are you doing?” and “Are you still with that vampire? I miss you and so does Rosie.”

We miss him so much….

And I have it figured out now. 

I want him. We need to talk. I think we can do it. Only if he’s not tired of my ill-treatment of him. 

  
  


**Baz**

Simon tentatively sits down after pulling a chair in front of my desk. As much as I want to walk around and talk as friends, this is a thing we need to discuss as a teacher and parent. 

It’s like he’s waiting for that camaraderie for a second, but when he realises I’m being serious, he slouches slightly. 

It takes every bone in my body to not reach out for him. 

“Is she okay?” Simon asks finally, and his voice… I’ve heard it only about an hour ago, but Crowley. It’s soft and filled with concern. And his stare. It’s laced with worry. 

It hurts, so I look away and pull out the picture again. “For the most part. She decided to exclude Agatha from the tree and needed a moment to calm herself down. But she didn’t cry.” 

Snow nods in my peripheral. “What did she do that was… how can you be inappropriate with a family tree?”

I’m reading the words on the back of my picture. “ _ I love Dr Grimm. I want him too be my daddy too. I want too daddys.” _

“Baz?”

My head hangs. I close my eyes and will myself not to get emotional. But I hold out the picture and he takes it. 

_ Where do I go from here? _

“We need to tell Rosie that this is becoming inappropriate—”

“Baz. Hey. Look at me.” 

I can’t. 

“Please,” he whispers. 

“She can’t do this sort of thing. She has an amazing father at home and I’m just her teacher—”

“ _ Baz _ .”

I look at Simon, and his eyes are pleading. Telling me to hold my tongue. To listen. 

He holds up the picture when he’s sure I won’t interrupt him. He’s smiling, but it’s pained. “We need to figure this out. Rosie wants two daddies.” 

I don’t quite know if I’m following. It might be the pessimist in me. “Well, we need to talk to her about boundaries, and that when she says that sort of thing, she’s crossing them—”

“ _ No _ ,” Simon says a little louder. “Baz. She wants… this.” He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and exhales. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a prat. I should’ve… I just got  _ so _ jealous and… but that’s not an excuse. I’m an arse, and if you don’t want to talk at this point, we don’t have to. But… I want to talk. I have feelings for you and I don’t know if… is he your boyfriend—”

“No… no. Not ever, but….”

I figured Simon liked me, but we’re both emotionally charged and sputtering messes. I, at least, need to collect my thoughts. My brain’s all over the place and I need to put it back together.

“I guess I should ask if you’re  _ really _ single.” Simon’s starting to get antsy. He’s tapping his foot and he can’t quite sit still. He needs a bouncy chair right about now. 

“I’m completely single. I’m not… seeing him anymore. I severed all ties the day you—”

My mouth shuts when Simon’s eyes shout at me. He doesn’t want to think about it, but if we want to talk….

Is this figuring things out? 

“Can we meet then? Somewhere?” Simon wrings his hands together. 

My throat dries. 

What is this?

Simon Snow… is asking me out. 

I nod. Is this real? 

“Yes. Where?”

Simon’s face turns red from the collar of this pullover to the tips of his ears. He must’ve thought I would say no after the way he’s treated me… but I understand why, and I’m not going to hold his past against him.

The more I realise Simon’s asked me on a date, the giddier I get. My stomach’s bubbling. A smile involuntarily spreads across my face.

“I want to go back to the cafe.” Many emotions are working at Simon’s features, and I don’t know which one I can read. I can confidently say he’s conflicted. 

I am, too. 

“You know that the only way we can figure this out is if we talk about everything, right?” 

It’s Simon’s turn to look away. “I know… and I’ll be ready. Is tonight”—he looks at me again—“all right?”

I nod. “Sure. We just meet at the cafe?”

“Yeah.” He looks down at his hands, then slips the picture back onto the desk between us. “By the way, I don’t mind if Rosie has that on her tree.” When he stands, he smiles at me. “I want you to be on there.”

My breath catches in my throat and I stand as well. To see him out. “All… right. What time?”

“After your after school programme is fine….” Simon looks at his feet and shuffles them a bit. “I’m sorry.”

I rest my hand on his bicep and his head whips up so fast, his neck pops. He rubs it. 

“Don’t, Simon. We’ll talk about it tonight, all right? I’ll text you when I’m on my way.” 

Instead of saying anything, instead of just giving a nod, he removes my hand from his bicep and uses it to pull me into his arms. 

A breath expels from me, and every thought slips my mind. I’m in his arms, fitfully, and it feels so good to be here, to be with him. The ground falls from beneath us and I hold him closer, burying my nose in his curls. He smells like butter and standard three-in-one. But he feels right. 

I’m in love with Simon Snow, and here I am. 

Things aren’t perfect right now. And nothing will ever be perfect. But we’re a step closer to  _ something _ when I never thought I would have this back… or at all. 

But he has feelings for me, and he wants Rosie to have two daddies, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> SO, how y'all feeling? You good? Need tissues? 
> 
> I just want them to be happy I promise they'll be happy. 
> 
> QotC: Are there any lines you may think is foreshadowing? *insert three eye emojis here*
> 
> Anyway, stay tuned! I'll see you tomorrow!


	26. Chapter 26

**Simon**

“So you decided that you like him?” 

Penny’s standing at her door and Rosie’s already inside, playing with Stevie. When I look past Penny’s shoulder, I can see Rosie helping Stevie onto her back. I don’t know if that’s quite a good idea, but I’m too distracted by Penny’s inquiry to question it. All I did was ask her to watch Rosie and if she could enlarge a few of the clothes I brought in a bag I’m holding out to her now. 

Instead, she wants to know why. (She always wants to know why.)

“Pen, he makes me happy. He makes Rosie happy. He’s been wanting to talk for days now, and just when I thought he stopped caring… he said he still wanted to.” I refrain from telling Penny that Rosie put Baz on her family tree. It’ll turn into a whole different conversation that I don’t have much time for. It’s already half five and the after school programme ends at six.

Penny gives me a judgemental once-over and snatches the bag from me. She nods me into the house and I follow her into the living room.

I take a seat on the sofa because Penny’s disappeared and Rosie’s now playing with blocks with Stevie. When I try to get comfy, I find myself laying back on some books. I pull one out and notice it’s a government textbook. (Penelope’s been wanting to get her doctorate after working at home for a few years. I think me telling her that Baz has one is pushing her further.) 

“Where are you going tonight, Daddy?” Rosie asks while passing a block to Stevie. They’re building a tower and not a very stable one at that. It’s already wobbling. “You already made a lot of bread.”

Rosie’s spent the night here the past few days so I could have a large amount of stock to have for sale. I’ve been going in and baking at night, and I already like it so much more than working at the packing plant. I get to play my own music and I feel no pressure or rush. I think I’m stocked up pretty well at this point, so I’m not worried about making any more at the moment. But I’ll be making some early tomorrow, too. (Tomorrow’s opening day!) 

“Well, I’m meeting up with a friend to catch up. An old school friend.” I think I may be smiling a little too much, or maybe I’m bouncing a bit because Rosie looks at me suspiciously. 

“Will I like them?” 

I chuckle, but don’t answer. Penny comes back in with the clothes on hangers. Nice, brown trousers and a button down. It’s much like the green I’m already wearing.

“You need to try them on,” Penny says when she hands them to me. And when she’s close enough for Rosie not to hear, she says, “Let me fix your hair, too.” 

The clothes fit perfectly, and when I take a look at myself, I can’t help but feel… good. 

I’m not the teenage Chosen One anymore. I don’t go on adventures that firm up my figure or starve in care homes, so my equilibrium is soft. It’s doughy. It makes me look like a proper dad, honestly. 

Even Penny points that out now when she slicks back, then ruffles my hair. 

“You look good like this, Simon.” 

She puts herself between me and the mirror, crossing her arms while she gives me another look. She cocks her head to the side, then adjusts the front of my shirt a little. Then, my sleeves. “You are a very handsome father.”

I want to sit down, but Penny gets busy again, collecting the coat I wore into the house and having me shrug it on. She adjusts that, too, then grabs a scarf from Shepard’s sizable collection. (He bought several here and brought a whole lot from home; Nebraska gets cold in the winter.) 

“I feel like I’m five,” I say when Penny nearly wraps half of my face up with a scarf, and she undoes it a couple of times to give me a look. 

“It’s cold out there.”

“And I’m a human furnace.” I unwrap the scarf from around my neck one more time. “Why are you so nervous?”

This only started happening when Penny got pregnant with Stevie, but she loves to dote on people when she’s nervous. It’s a bit suffocating, but everything about her always has been. It’s her natural state. 

Penny groans and throws her hands in the air, collapsing onto the bed. And then her hand flies to her tummy, right under the bump and near her hip. She grabs my hand and puts it right where she had it, and I feel a little movement roll right under my palm. 

We smile at each other, and then I pull my hand from her stomach and frown. “Penny, stop digressing.” 

“It’s Baz Pitch, Simon. That’s why I’m worried,” she sighs. Her hand finds mine and she squeezes my fingers. “I know you know him better than I do. Better than I ever have. But… as your best friend, it’s my job to be concerned.” 

I pull Penny into my side and kiss her curls. Even though she can be frustrating, at the end of the day, she’s still my best friend. She’s the glue that holds me together. I don’t know where I would be right now without her. Probably some loser who lost his child to the foster care system and chain smokes cigarettes I bummed off of other people. 

Instead, she’s watching Rosie for me while I go on a… date of sorts. 

I certainly asked Baz out, and he certainly agreed. And we certainly hugged until our arms got numb. 

It’s probably a date. I would think so, at least. 

“We’re just figuring out what each of us wants….”

“And is he going to explain what you saw?”

As much as I want to compartmentalise it, my therapist would scream at me for doing it. If I don’t think things are okay, I need to talk it out to understand. 

“Yes. But it doesn’t matter.”   


She nudges me with her shoulder. “It does to you.”

Penny’s right. She always is. 

+++

Baz texted me that he was on his way ten minutes ago, and I’ve been here for the past thirty. I could’ve already gone into the cafe, but I would feel awkward. And I’m frozen in my seat. 

When I go into something, it’s usually headfirst. I don’t give myself time to really absorb things. But this decision, this conversation doesn’t only affect me. It also affects Rosie. I  _ have _ to think about it. I have to know what to say. I need to know what to look for. Otherwise, whatever choice I make could hurt her. 

I’m nervous. I’m so nervous that I could throw up.

The only thing that keeps me calm is that I know Baz. I knew him then and I know him now. He has Rosie’s best interests in mind as well. I don’t have to introduce the two, either. And we’ve already got her stamp of approval. 

Rosie was the person who really brought us together, after all. 

In the end, there’s nothing I  _ should _ be worried about. But I am. 

I’ve talked my abandonment issues out with my therapist before. I just… I need the reassurance. 

And I’m afraid that I’ll scare Baz away if I cling to him like Rosie does to our legs.

There’s no more time to think about it when Baz’s car pulls up beside mine. He takes a moment to slick back his hair. It’s down and loose—I like it when the strands hang in his eyes. It would give me a reason to push it behind his ear. And then to cup his cheek. Then pull him in. 

But it’s slicked back, revealing that widow’s peak of his. 

He must be giving himself a pep talk because he’s saying something to himself in the mirror. Then, he breathes in and out. He stares at himself in the mirror one more time before pushing it up and grabbing something from the passenger seat. Then he climbs out with those long legs. He’s holding a white box tied off with yellow ribbon. 

Was I supposed to bring something? Should I have? I begin to feel a bit like a prat. 

I should’ve brought something too. 

Someone knocks on my window and I jump just a bit. I find Baz standing there—how did he get there so fast?—leaning down so he can look at me. 

  
  


I pull my keys from the ignition and unlock the door. He opens it. 

“Did you enjoy the show?”

“What?”

A soft smile overtakes his face. “I could see you staring at me through the window. I parked next to you for a reason.” 

He holds his hand out for me, and I stare at it for a moment. I take it before he can awkwardly pull it back and I hop out of the car. He closes the door for me, I lock it, and we walk into our cafe. 

We stand together towards the door, looking over the menu. We’ve both been here, but there are new festive drinks on the menu that especially catch Baz’s attention. I can already see him fetching his wallet from his coat pocket, so I squeeze his hand and pull mine away to tuck it under my armpit. 

This grabs his attention. “What?”

“You’re not paying.” 

Baz almost rolls his eyes, but he stops himself. “I’m trying to make it up—”

_ “You _ have nothing to make up. Plus, what’s in the box?” 

His grip protectively tightens on it. “You’ll see soon.” 

“Then I’m paying. Tell me what you want.” 

Baz sits down after I order and I wait by the counter. This took some fighting, too, but when he takes a seat, it allows me to watch him. It allows me to take him in. 

He’s wearing the same thing he had on earlier, but most teachers perpetually dress well and Baz is Baz. He looks great in what he’s wearing, and his long coat adds to his look. We’ll probably shrug off our extra layers later….

But even through those layers, I can see that he’s nervous. He’s a little twitchy, like he was before the vampire came in and hijacked everything. 

I wonder if he’s going to say the same thing. Or tell me what he had planned to tell me then. 

Where would we be now if we hadn’t been interrupted?

“Your drinks,” the barista says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I turn to look at what she’s placed on the counter and nibble on my bottom lip. “Is it all right if you put them in to-go cups? I’m sorry I didn’t mention it sooner….”

Baz looks confused when I bring the two heavy-duty paper cups over to our table. “Are we not staying?”

“You look like you’re a bit nervous. Walking could help.” 

Before he says anything, Baz looks down at the box, then back up at me. The confusion’s turned into a smile, but I can’t quite read his eyes. “All right, but I want you to open this first.” 

I sit, and he pushes the box towards me. Then, he takes his drink and sips from it. 

  
  


**Baz**

I don’t have a rapidly beating heart to break out of my chest, but I certainly do feel like I’m choking on it. We’re sitting here again after little over a week and though everything has changed, so much has remained the same. And it feels good. We bicker over little things in a mostly playful manner. We’re smiling. The hand holding is new, and I only anticipated helping him out of the car. 

This is good, this is progress. And Simon wants it. 

He was the one who asked me here. 

I feel like I’m on top of the world, but our impending discussion is doing a number to my internal organs. They feel entangled, and I’m all twitchy because of it. 

In only a matter of an hour, Simon Snow will know my undying love for him. And I know he’s not quite there. I don’t know when he will be. But I’ve waited with hope and without. I can wait a little more. I’ve got centuries. 

Simon goes to shake the box I’ve pushed in front of him, but I put my hand over his because it’s pointless. “Just open it, Snow.”

So, he pulls the ribbon and opens the box, to find scones—sour cherry scones—surrounding a smaller antique box. 

For a moment, he looks like he wants to eat a scone more than he wants to open the mystery box, but he gives in and picks it up. 

His jaw goes somewhat slack at the sight of its contents. It’s a talisman, hundreds of years old, charged with enchantments and blessings. A citrine necklace. 

“W-what?” he whispers, then looks at me. “What is it?”

“It’s a family heirloom. My father gave it to me when I went to college and I’m giving it to you the night before you open your bakery. It’s a good luck charm, basically. The stone attracts success. Do you want me to put it on you now?”

Simon’s gaping like a fish, and it’s both comical and attractive. I want to kiss the look off of his face, but that would be charging forward too fast. 

He answers my question by snapping the box closed, but then he puts it in his pocket. “Outside—Baz. It’s a  _ family _ heirloom.”

I nod. If he thinks I’ll take it back…..

“And now it’s yours.”

Simon’s bewildered look shifts into something beautiful. He’s smiling, radiating. 

The fact that I can make him feel like this—the fact that I can make him so happy after everything—gives me hope. 

_ He wants this. Simon Snow… he wants me. He wants us. _

  
  


**Simon**

Baz didn’t have to do this, and as I feel for it in my pocket, I can’t believe he did. And I can’t find the words to show that I appreciate him and that he is passing it to me in the first place. I just want to grab him by the collar and pull him over this table, but I don’t. 

Instead, I take his hands. “Thank you… I… Baz. Seriously, I appreciate it.” 

“I know you do… but I didn’t do this to sugarcoat what we need to talk about. I just wanted to get it out of the way so your mind won’t wander back to it all night.” He squeezes my hand, then an afterthought drifts through his head. I can tell by the way his genuine smile wavers for a moment. “Also, the scones aren’t from Watford, but I can get them next time.”

Look at him, already planning a next time. 

(I don’t know what the night holds, but I’m already planning for one, too.)

“You don’t have to,” I tell him sincerely, and Baz shakes his head. 

“I want to… Are you ready?”

We collect our things, and I put the scones in my passenger seat. Baz waits for me, and when I lock the car, I turn back to find his hand held out. “Let me help you with the necklace. I can put extra enchantments.”

Having Baz right behind me, his mouth so close to my neck, I can’t help but shiver. Not out of fear, but he breathes against my neck and goose pimples form up and down my arms. It feels good, and it feels new. 

I think it may scare Baz, though. Or make him insecure. He stops for a moment. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No,” I answer quickly, and I almost turn around, but I don’t want to make it harder for him to put the necklace on. “No… you’re not. You were just breathing on my neck.” 

And it felt good. 

Neither of us says anything else about it. He places a few enchantments on the necklace and stone itself once it’s secure around my neck, and then we aimlessly begin to wander down the pavement. 

  
  


**Baz**

Simon Snow is beautiful in the lamplight, especially on a snowy evening. We wander together, cups hugged between our hands as we make our way to who knows where. But Simon’s looking around everywhere, and those eyes I used to describe as a boring blue twinkle in the light. They’re encapsulating. I could peer into them all day. 

I could look at  _ him _ all day. His tawny skin glows. And his curls shimmer. I want to run a hand through its thick mass. I want to kiss those freckles on his face. I want every bit of Simon, as close as I can get him. 

For now, we walk side by side. Not saying anything. Not at the moment. 

But then Simon clears his throat. 

“You don’t feel guilty, do you?” he asks me. He’s quiet, and I almost can’t hear him above the night sounds. His brows knit together in the middle when he looks over at me. 

“I do… but only because I was already emotionally connected to you.” 

I stop. Simon does as well after he notices. He’s only a few footfalls ahead of me. 

I’ve been prepared to tell Simon Snow this for over a week. 

_ I was going to tell him.  _

And now, I really will. 

With the way he looks at me, I know he wants to know more. So I give it to him. 

“Simon, when I first saw you, I knew you were going to be in my life for a very long time—beyond Watford years. I didn’t know how… but then I realised….”

He’s coming closer. He’s drawn towards me, and his eyes wander over me like he’s searching for an answer. “Realised what?”

“That you were the sun, and I was crashing into you. I’d wake up every morning and think, “This will end in flames.””

Simon’s hand has found mine. He squeezes it, but he’s still uncertain.

“I’ve been in love with you for over half of my life, and that was because I didn’t know you the other half.” 

I can barely breathe. My eyes are closed to spare the crazed look I’m sure I’ll get, and Simon’s hand slips from mine. 

He thinks I’m mad, I’m sure. But I continue.

“I was hopelessly in love with you, so much I was  _ sick _ with the feeling. Emphasis on  _ hopeless _ . I never expected reciprocation, so when I was weary of being in love with someone I thought I could never have… I found him. And he abused me.” 

Blunt, but true. I can feel Simon prickle when I say this, and he takes my hand again. At first, I think it’s only to pull us to the side of the pavement, but he doesn’t let go. 

I open my eyes. He’s gazing at me, and it’s soft. It helps, but my stomach’s still tied up in knots. 

“He got me because we were alike. He groomed me. He taught me that I could eat normally and how to do it. He told me that I didn’t have to kill or Turn anyone for sustenance. I learned so much from him, and he numbed me. He numbed my romantic emotions….”

“Hey.” Simon squeezes my hand. “Do you want to find a bench?” 

There’s one only a few feet away. 

Once we sit, I continue, and I tell him everything. About Lamb having the upper hand. About how he only showed up when I was feeling low. That I was nothing but a toy. And that he’s no longer a threat. 

“But. I feel guilty. And I didn’t… I never expected you to find out or  _ care _ , but I still feel like it’s my fault, even when I didn’t know—”

“Baz.” Simon’s soft, and he pulls me a little closer. We’re touching from the hip down to the knee. He places our entwined hands where our laps meet. “It was me. I freaked out. And… and your situation… but I should’ve stayed. We should’ve talked. I should have listened. None of this stuff is your fault, especially when you felt… trapped.” 

“But I should’ve told him to go away sooner. Your heart is fragile. You’ve been hurt so many times before, and I should’ve… I should’ve—”

I stop when Simon sets his cup down on the ground and reaches over. He tucks some of the strands of hair that fell into my eyes behind my ear, and he uses it as an opportunity to cup my cheek. 

We’re both leaning in, and a pull similar to the Crucible brings me even closer. I surrender myself to him. I close my eyes. I’m ready to be suffocated by butter and bronze.

  
  


**Simon**

My phone rings. 

I’m  _ just _ about to kiss Baz Pitch, and my phone rings. 

Baz presses his forehead against mine and laughs, but it’s made of honesty and spearmint. And I’m laughing, too. 

“I can’t believe this,” he chuckles, and I want to lean in and kiss him anyway in spite of it, but I decide to see who it is instead. 

Penny’s name lights up the screen… and I know she wouldn’t call me if she didn’t need to, so I pick up. 

“Simon.” She sounds like she’s coming down from a frenzy. She also sounds like she’s in a car. I gulp down my nerves, but they come back up when she says, “Rosie’s had an allergic reaction.” 

I stand. “What?” 

Before my life flashes before my eyes, Penny says, “She’s fine. Simon, breathe. Shep gave her the epi-pen and I covered her in spells. But….”

“Pen, you can’t trail off like that when you’re talking about my daughter having an allergic reaction!”

Baz stands up, too, now, and he’s guiding me to the car by the small of my back. 

“Just to make sure she’s fine, we’re taking her to Dr Wellbelove’s.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhangers are my favorite.
> 
> Is this really a cliffhanger? 
> 
> Anyway, oof.
> 
> QotC: Do you think we're out of the woods yet? How open do you think Simon's gonna be with Baz beyond this? Or will he begin to pull away.
> 
> Have a good day!! See you tomorrow and thank you for 4000+ hits!!


	27. Chapter 27

**Simon**

“Do you want me to go with you? I can go home, or I could wait for you at the house.” 

Baz stands across from me as I weigh the pros and cons of each of his suggestions. I haven’t seen Agatha’s parents since it happened. I don’t know if they even know  _ what _ happened exactly. But I assume Agatha still visits sometimes so Rosie hasn’t been around them. Mrs Wellbelove asked where Rosie was once out of the blue, and I told her that she was with me. Agatha must’ve been with them. 

I haven’t gotten a text once since, and I never bothered contacting them. I don’t want Rosie around if Agatha could pop up. She wanted nothing to do with Rosie, after all. 

All ties were severed with her family, and here Penny is, trying to tie them back together. Maybe not on purpose, but  _ Normal  _ doctors can handle allergic reactions. 

Merlin. 

“Know what, I’m coming with you,” Baz decides, and he takes my keys from me. “You’re too… in your head, I guess, for my comfort. Grab your scones and let’s go. Maybe you can talk to Rosie over the phone.”

Even though I feel like he’s giving me no choice, it’s probably the one I would’ve gone with. So I nod. And then I grab my scones from the car and we hop into his. 

While Baz pulls out of the parking space, I’m cramming half a scone in my mouth and calling Penny at the same time. She picks up right away. 

“Si, I told you she’s fine. Don’t worry yourself sick.”

“I just want to talk to her.” 

Penny huffs into the phone and when I catch Baz glancing over at me, I roll my eyes and hold the phone away from my mouth. 

“She thinks it’s dumb that I’m worried.” 

“No, I don’t!” Penny shouts from the receiver; I guess she’s heard me, and Baz chortles. But he squeezes my knee so I know that he’s not laughing at me. 

She continues when I hold the phone back up to my ear. “I’m just saying that if you’re worried, don’t be. I just want to make sure everything’s all right. Like, completely.”

“Then you should’ve taken her to an emergency clinic!”

“I’m not taking her to a Normal doctor, Simon.”

When I was younger, I used to wonder why people pinch the bridge of their nose when they’re frustrated. And now I know why. Even though Penny’s married to a Normal, she’s willfully ignorant that they’re perfectly capable of taking care of  _ typical _ maladies. 

“For Crowley’s sake… just let me talk to her.”

Penny decides that she must not want to argue anymore because, after a few seconds of shuffling and white noise, someone takes the phone. Rosie sniffs into the phone. “Are you coming?”

My insides melt, and I feel terrible. How did she manage to eat any sort of shellfish in the first place? Penny knows what she’s allergic to… my only guess is that there was some cross-contamination. 

“Yes, sweet girl. We’re coming. Are you feeling all right?”

Baz nudges me and I glance at him. His hand’s sitting on the console between us, and I think I know….

When I take his hand, I feel a little better. Definitely more grounded, and somewhat reassured. 

“My throat still itches a little, but Uncle Shep used the EpiPen. And then Aunt Penny used spells. But they said I need to make sure I’m A-okay. So I’m going to a doctor.” 

I don’t know if Rosie will remember her grandparents. She never saw them too often in the past, so I can’t imagine her going in and recognising her grandfather. 

I hope to every powerful mage that no one says anything. And I’m not too happy with Penny for taking Rosie into the epicentre of Rosie’s emotional trauma, even though it’s only Agatha’s parents. 

“Are you scared?” I ask her, only because I wish I could be holding her hand now. I squeeze Baz’s instead, and he squeezes back. Then, he turns onto another road. 

“No, but I have to go, Daddy. We’re here. I love you!”

“I love you too, Princess. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Rosie doesn’t reply. She must’ve hung the phone up because I don’t hear anything. And then I check my phone screen. Yep. 

“Are  _ you _ scared?” Baz asks after giving us a moment of silence. He comes to a stop and turns his attention to me. 

“I just… it drives me nuts that Penny couldn’t just take her to an emergency clinic, you know? Instead of straight to the fucking Wellbeloves. I don’t think Rosie will remember her grandparents, but they’ll remember her and I don’t want anything starting, especially with Rosie being caught in the middle.”

Baz has to start driving again, but he holds my hand up to his mouth and presses a kiss to my knuckles. A chill runs through my arm and down my spine. My breath stutters just the same. 

Yet, it keeps me here. In the present. With him and not drifting away in some brain funk. 

“Thank you for being with me, by the way. You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to.” He glances at me for a second, then turns back to the road. We’re getting close. “I’d do anything for the two of you.”

I would lean against Baz’s shoulder if there weren’t an awkward lump of a console in between us.

After a few more moments of driving, we pull into the drive and something feels off. It's the two-tonne piece of white metal we’re parking behind. That’s not Penny’s car. 

“Maybe we should park on the road,” I say, trying to rid myself of this sick feeling. I don’t know what it is, but Baz doesn’t question it. He pulls out, then up to the curb.

And that’s when I see it. 

Not  _ it _ .  _ Her _ .

Blonde hair and posh clothes. I haven’t seen her in so long, I don’t recognise her at first, but it is exactly who I think it is and alarm bells go off in my head. 

“Simon,” Baz breathes and I know he’s seen her now, too. She’s not a ghost. She’s  _ really _ there. 

_ Fuck _ . 

I’m about to reach for the car door, but Baz grabs my wrist. I turn around so fast, it hurts my neck. I rub the side of it. 

“We need a plan.”

I nod. “Yeah. We really, really need one.” I turn back again and see that she’s smoking a cigarette. She must’ve just got here. She’s parked behind Penny. 

Has Rosie seen her? 

_ Fuck _ , Rosie. 

I try to open the car door again, But Baz yanks on my wrist. 

“What do you want to do? We need one before she walks in.” 

“Fuck, I don’t know!” My mind’s racing. I don’t know what I’m feeling. But it’s the bad type of nauseous, not the kind that Baz makes me feel. My fingers run through my hair and tug. 

“Do you want me to distract her, or—”

“No.” Looking at her only incites more panic. I turn to face the front and sink in my seat. “Rosie would love to see you. I… I should distract her.” 

“Would that be good for you?”

Probably not.

“Yeah.”

I don’t think Baz is buying it, but he nods either way. “If you want to switch last minute, let me know. And I’ll be in there for you after, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

If I weren’t so emotionally distraught right now, I might kiss him. But I don’t. I give him a smile, though, and he squeezes my wrist before letting go of it. 

The two of us walk side by side towards the front door, and when Agatha catches a glimpse of us, she does a double-take. I’m not sure it’s because Baz is here or because I am. He keeps walking, though, and knocks on the door. 

Mrs Wellbelove looks confused for a split second when she opens the door but invites him in. 

I approach Agatha. She won’t look at me. 

I can’t stop looking at her now that I'm closer. And I hate it. And her. I wish I didn’t hate the person who gave me such an amazing child, but I do, and I grow angrier with every second that passes. 

She left me, sure, but she hurt Rosie. She put her through so much pain, and she stands there, healthy-looking, beautiful, untouched.

Like we never had an important place in her life. 

Does she ever think about Rosie? Does she regret leaving?

“Why are you here?” I finally ask, and she takes another drag of her smoke. 

“I should be asking you the same question,” she says, sitting on the sill of the window we’re standing in front of. “I’m visiting my family for the holiday.” 

She’s holding her composure and it’s like she’s hiding behind a mask of disinterest. I can only feel myself grow angrier; my stomach’s a pit of lava, and if I were still combustible, I would be sparking at the moment. 

How could she leave us? 

How could she leave  _ Rosie _ ?

“Well, Rosie’s having an allergic reaction.”

Saying her name makes the veil slip. Agatha looks at me like I’ve said something profane. Then, it fades into something like concern, but there’s too much interest in her eyes for me to think it's genuine. 

Maybe that’s my anger talking, but it’s how I feel. 

Agatha puts her cigarette out on the brick and flicks the butt into the bushes. “Is she with my dad?”

“Probably, but you’re not going to see her.”

But Agatha’s already starting to head towards the door. I won’t have it. I  _ refuse _ to let her walk back into my child’s life when it’s convenient, when Rosie’s finally finding comfort in someone else. When I know that there is someone who would love her just as much as I do. 

“Now, why can’t I see her, Simon?” She gently places her hands on her hips. Everything is gentle and I hate it. 

_ I. Hate. Her. _

My breathing’s already picked up and I’m pretty sure I’m huffing, but she’s seen it before. She knows my mannerisms. 

“Because you lost your right four years ago.”

“I’m her mother.”

That’s it. I close my eyes and try to calm myself down, but my voice trembles as I say, “I got divorce papers and custody rights in the mail. You never said goodbye to her, and you were barely in her life in the first place. But do you know what happened when I had to sit her down and tell her that Mummy wasn’t coming back?”

Agatha’s silent. 

“She wouldn’t stop crying. She cried your name. She thought she could fucking manifest you or something. I had to send her to therapy and she  _ still _ goes. She sleeps in bed with me because she thinks that I might leave, too!” I open my eyes and Agatha’s shrunk. I can’t tell if she’s trembling or if it’s just me. But I’m growing increasingly louder. 

“I thought that you would understand at least talking it out, Agatha. But you just slipped away like no one would notice. And then you  _ chose _ to never see her again. I couldn’t protect her from that, but I still felt responsible—”

“It’s not your fault—”

“I KNOW!” For a moment, I stop. I breathe. I’m not crying, but I’m close to it. “I know it’s not my fault. It’s  _ yours _ , but  _ I _ have PTSD, Agatha. And my trust issues are shit and I think everything is my fault. But no. This is  _ you _ . You ruined her childhood, you severed my ability to find love, and just when things are looking up, when I find someone who’s loved me for half of his goddamn life and loves Rosie more than you ever did, you manage to show up.” 

I’m shaking. I’m shaking bad and I’m trying to collect myself, but I don’t want to look weak. So I loom over her. And I’m deadly cool when I say, “So, no. You will not see Rosie because she is not your daughter anymore. You signed those fucking rights away.” 

  
  


**Baz**

Just to spare the possibility of Rosie hearing Simon and Agatha, I’ve put a sound buffering spell on the room she's in. She’s in a bedroom now that Dr Wellbelove has checked her out and deemed her fine. Bunce’s immediate spells helped with anything that would need to be looked at further and she’s due to leave as soon as Simon discusses it with Welby. 

So, I’m just in here to entertain her. As soon as she saw me, she practically ran into my arms. 

I did what any person would do and picked her up, spinning her around a few times. 

She’s fine. 

But now, she’s asleep on the bed and I’m holding her hand because she wanted me to. The kid has had an exhausting day. 

Only a few moments pass when I hear Simon talking to Dr Wellbelove outside the door. Welby’s telling him the same thing he told me and Bunce. (I only saw her in passing, along with her husband and child.) But he explains to Simon that she’s fine. According to Bunce, they ordered food and there must’ve been a crossover between shellfish and her chicken at some point. 

Simon walks into the room a few moments later. He lets out a stuttering breath when he sees Rosie and his shoulders roll back. It’s amazing to see what a daughter can do to ease her father, and Rosie does it by just existing. Being here. She is his ultimate comfort, but even as he comes closer, I can still see how he’s frazzled. He’s tired, and at the end of his rope. He probably needs a few days to recuperate. 

He comes closer to us after standing for a moment and sits next to Rosie’s head. It’s like he’s a magnet because she shimmies towards him and rests her head on his lap. He runs his fingers through her hair.

“Do you want to talk?” I whisper, and he nods, but then he glances down at Rosie and shakes his head. 

“Not here. We should go… Penny’s letting her stay the night at her house… I don’t want her to see me like…like this.”

This surprises me a bit, but I can understand where he’s coming from. He wants to protect Rosie from the bad. (Though, I do think Simon needs to realise that he’s only human.)

I’m gentle with how I pull my hand from Rosie’s. Her hand falls slack to her side. She’s still out. 

“I can take you home and then pick up your car. Do you want me to?”

Simon fights with himself for a minute. I can see it in his eyes, but he ultimately nods. 

+++

It’s late when I get back to Simon’s place, but I didn’t want him driving. I can easily cast a million spells that keep me from crashing while I’m distracted behind the wheel, but I don’t know how well Simon would be able to conjure something up. 

It’s for his safety, and I want to keep him safe. 

When I walk into the house, he’s in the same place I’ve left him: lying in bed. Except his wings are loose and hanging limply.

I wonder what he’s thinking. 

I wish I could take those thoughts away. 

He must be hurting, though, seeing his ex-wife after all this time. And although we didn’t speak much in the car, he let me know this. Agatha wanted to see Rosie.

After all of this time, after leaving them impoverished and with bucketloads of issues, she thinks she can walk in? Even if she wanted to, it would have to be an acclimation, not all at once.

And earlier events tell me that Rosie wouldn’t want to see her at all. 

I don’t know what kind of emotions pollute Simon’s mind right now, but I want to be there for him. 

Instead of standing at his bedroom door frame, I invite myself in and sit on the bed at his feet. Now that he knows how I feel about him—now that I know that he wants me with him—I don’t feel weird placing my hand on his calf. He pulls his leg back slightly, then he glances down at me and relaxes. 

“I didn’t know you were there. You scared me.”

“Sorry.”

He sighs and nestles his head further into his pillow. And then he flutters his eyes shut. “You can go home now.”

For a moment, I don’t know what to think. Is he kicking me out or pushing me away? If it’s the latter, I won’t let him. Not when he’s struggling. “You need me.”

His foot finds my thigh through the sheets and he gives it a little kick. He’s smiling—a little—now, so I do, too. 

“I don’t  _ need _ anyone, Baz.” 

“You’re right.” I grab his foot just as he’s about to kick me again. “Do you want me?”

Instead of answering immediately, he props himself on his side so he can actually look at me now. His gaze is vulnerable. “I do.”

Even in the hurt of this moment, the deep feeling of being wanted warms my chest. “I can stay the night.”

“Will… will you stay with me?”

I nod. “For as long as you’ll allow me.” 

Within a few minutes, Simon’s wingless again and I’m hugging his back to my bare chest. He’s so warm, and I’m here, my nose buried in his neck. Neither of us has said anything, but I know he’s awake; I know his heartbeat like no other. I hope he’s finding comfort in me holding him. 

I’ve dreamt of this moment for seventeen years. 

I never knew it would come true. But I’m here with him now and so painfully in love. I could almost cry, and I might later when I know he’s asleep. 

I love Simon Snow. 

I would go to the ends of the earth for him.

But if he wants me holding him like I am now, that’s so much better.

Someday, I will be able to tell him this in different ways. Love letters. Sonnets. I told him upfront tonight, but I can’t wait to get creative with it. I can’t wait to show him every bit of me.

“Baz?” Simon says sleepily. His voice is a little gravelly from earlier. 

“Yes?”

“Can you take Rosie to school tomorrow?”

I prop my chin on his shoulder. “Of course.” 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

“Don’t be,” I say. And then I kiss the spot right behind his ear. He shivers, but relaxes further into me. 

I can tell that Simon’s asleep a few minutes later. 

“I love you,” I whisper in his ear before falling asleep myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, y'all wanted fluff. 
> 
> And you got it! 
> 
> QotC: Do you think this will be all we see of Agatha, or will she come again? 
> 
> Just for clarification (in case anyone thinks I hate Agatha) I really do like her. But in this certain scenario, I can't imagine Agatha staying when she's had enough. (Just like her going to California to get away from everything.) So, canon Agatha? Queen. Love her. This Agatha? Oof. 
> 
> Please don't take this as Agatha bashing!!!
> 
> I love you all :(:


	28. Chapter 28

**Baz**

I leave early in the morning to get ready before I pick up Rosie. As much as I hate departing without waking Snow, I leave him a note telling him what I’m doing after I make sure his alarms are on. It’s the bakery’s opening day, after all, and he’d beat himself up if he were late to his own grand opening. 

I make sure to leave a plate of scones and butter out as well. He’ll want to warm the scones up, but they’ve always been his favourite and I wanted him to know I was thinking of him. 

Now that he’s looking at me like he does and allowing me to hold him all night, I feel the need to prove myself worthy. So he doesn’t think he’s made a mistake by letting me back in. 

It’s only been  _ one _ day, I know, but… I’m not used to things going as I would like them to. And if things fall apart between us….

Well….

Dwelling on something that has not happened yet isn’t good for me, so I don’t. 

Instead, I knock on Penny’s door and am met with her husband. The Normal. He smiles at me, and then Penny pushes him aside. 

“You look like Christmas has thrown up all over you, Basil.” After she looks me over again—I’m decked out in reds and greens—she adds, “She’s eating breakfast, but you can come in.” 

She steps out of my way so I can come in. 

And it looks like a tornado hit their living room. 

Books are everywhere and stacked haphazardly on top of each other. Toys are strewn across the carpet in front of the telly and blankets drape the couch—I almost can’t find it. 

But when I do, I take a seat on the edge and look down at my phone. 

Simon’s up and has texted me; I can already tell he’s in a better mood today. 

**Thank you for the note and breakfast. Will you come by the bakery today? Xx**

Those X’s should not make me feel like I do, but I’m a grinning mess and I have to put my phone away so I don’t look like a maniac. 

“Who?” 

My eyes land a child who’s a perfect mixture of Bunce and her husband: his curls, her nose. He’s a cute little thing, and only about two if I’m not mistaken. (Child development classes help you pinpoint a kid’s age.)

I’m assuming the little tyke is asking who I am, so I hold out a finger to him. “I’m Baz. I know Rosie and your mummy.”

“Oh.” The boy takes my finger and shakes it. “I Stee-bie,” he lets me know by placing his hand on his chest. And then he walks away. 

Toddlers are either really calm or absolutely all over the place.

I’m guessing he’s the former.

A few moments later, Rosie walks into the living room and grins at the sight of me. I begin to prepare myself for an immediately abrupt impact, but she walks over rather calmly, _then_ hurls herself into my lap and hugs me. 

I was expecting a hug, not a seven-year-old in my lap, but I take it and pat her back. “All right, Miss Salisbury?”

Rosie nestles her head further into my shoulder and nods. “I missed you.” Her head pops up. “Are you my babysitter again?”

Penny hears this and throws me a death glare across the room. I roll my eyes at her and turn my attention back to Rosie, who is batting those pretty brown eyes at me. 

Technically speaking, I’m not. I’m seeing her father. But I know Simon won’t want to have that conversation with her until things completely settle. 

That means flirting in ways that go over her head, but she’s so damn smart that she might pick up on it.

“Kind of. But your Aunt is for the most part. Your dad asked if I could take you to school today, though. And we’re going to go see him at the bakery after.”

This is of great interest to Rosie. Her eyes light up. “I designed it, so I get to tell you about everything when we get there.”

“That sounds perfect, sweetheart,” I say, then hand her her clothes. We need to get going. “Get changed and I can iron you out before we go. We have a fun day today.”

She takes her bag without another word and slams the bathroom shut when she reaches it.

And Penelope Bunce wastes no time swooping down on me and casting, “ **_True colours!_ ** ”

I think she’s disappointed to see that I’m radiating a blue hue. “Really?” she whispers more to herself, but I hear her nonetheless. 

“Are you quite done?” I ask, standing. I grab my wand and pull it out and she gives me an uncertain look. “I need to iron her clothes. I’m not going to curse you.”

Bunce crosses her arms and gives me  _ yet _ another look. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to trust you.” 

I cock a brow. “Do you trust Simon?”

“Yes,” she says without hesitation. 

“Well, if he trusts me, you should, too.” I straighten out my tie before adding, “By the way, I liked how you did Simon’s hair yesterday.”

Her guarded visage falters, but before she can double down, Rosie skips out in her wrinkled uniform. That’s a quick fix, and to make her feel a bit more festive, I top her off with stardust.

Rosie and Bunce exchange their affections, and then we’re off to school. 

We’re barely down the road from the Bunces when Rosie asks, “Why were you and Daddy sad?”

There’s that perception that will certainly give Simon’s and my feelings towards each other away. Her question is blunt, but she’s also a child. I don’t expect anything less than honest.

There are some questions you have to dance around when children ask them, and Simon didn’t want her to know—he clearly told her nothing. But… I don’t want to lie to her. 

“Your daddy and I had a disagreement and then we were sad. But it’s better now.” 

“Good,” Rosie mumbles, leaning against the glass of the backseat. “We missed you a lot. Daddy didn’t like talking about you. So he said I could get a Barbie if I didn’t talk about you for a day.”

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about that, but I find myself chortling and feeling a little less cruel for bribing her with M&M’s. 

“Did you get the Barbie?” I can’t help but ask. 

“Yeah. She’s a mermaid.” 

  
  


**Simon**

Baz gave me a family heirloom and Penny’s coming by in a few minutes with something else for me. I think she may be trying to outdo Baz, because when I told her about the necklace last night—she caught me by the arm before I could talk to Dr Wellbelove—she seemed a little disgruntled. 

It didn’t surprise me when Baz texted me that she used an intention spell on him. 

Honestly, I don’t care if she gives me anything—nothing’s going to distract me from the sheer nervousness keeping me glued to this stool by the register. 

Only a few minutes until I turn the “Open” sign on. 

_ Will anyone come? _

Penny walks through the front door before my thoughts can spiral, and she holds up a box. 

I think it might be a ring box; the velvet is a little busted and peeling from the box itself, so it’s nothing new.

I guess I’ll be weighed down in jewellery. First the necklace and now—

“Okay, this isn’t for  _ you _ exactly, but I wanted to come in and be your first customer,” she lets me know, sliding the box against the wooden counter. I stand and catch it before it can fall to the ground, then snap it open. 

A large red ruby stares back at me and I can’t help but raise a brow. “Who is this for…?”

“It’s an heirloom my mum thought she lost! I don’t know if it will work, but we could see if Rosie could use it.” 

What’s with everyone handing down heirlooms to me? 

Just as I’m about to ask her if that was it, she’s no longer in front of the register. She’s gazing over my selection of sourdough. I’m not surprised. I’m predicting that those are going to fly off the shelves. 

“If you want a fresher loaf, go for the bread in the back.”

Penny waves me off and decides to grab one at random. I don’t think she really cares about which one she takes at the end of the day. She just wants a reason to give me money. 

“So, is that all?” I ask while scanning her bread. She digs out some money from her purse and shakes her head. 

“I wanted to check in on you, too,” she says, slipping the banknote to me. I pull out her change. 

“How? I’m… all right.”

“You needed to leave Rosie with me last night, Si. You haven’t done that since… well….”

“Baz was there for me. He kept me from sinking too deep. I’m doing fine, but I’m not magickally cured.” I hand her the bread. “And before you ask if I’m going to therapy, I have an appointment the same time Rosie does this Saturday. I’ll be fine.” 

Penny gives me that apprehensive look she always saves for when she’s extra concerned. “I don’t want you to crash.” 

“Pen, I’m fine. Can we not talk about this? Or Baz? Or anything that doesn’t involve bread? I’m supposed to be excited right now, not broody.” I lean against the counter and blow a few strands of hair out of my eyes. 

She lets it go, but she’s certainly not happy about it. She grumbles under her breath before pointing her amethyst at my head. “ **_Not a hair out of place!_ ** ”

My stray hair flies back and out of my eyes. Penny looks happy with herself. “All right. You’re ready, baker boy. I need to leave; I don’t want to make Shep late.”

“Can you turn the “Open” sign on?” 

Penny finds the switch and flips it upward on her way out. 

“I’ll see you, Si. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” 

“Yeah.” I wave at her and watch as she slips out of the bakery. 

And then I realise two things. I’ve had my first paying customer and the bakery… the bakery I’ve spent years of blood, sweat, and tears on is open. 

My dream of being something other than a truck loader has come true. My hope for spending more time with Rosie is now just an arm’s length away. If things go well, I will be able to hire employees to help me out with the store. 

_ I won’t be a disappointment anymore _ . 

These emotions of pride and relief and happiness build up within me, and I feel like I might look insane with how big I’m smiling, but I’m happy. I’m so happy!

I never thought I’d get so far. 

In the euphoric state I’m in, I text Baz and tell him that we’re open, and Merlin, I’m so happy. He doesn’t text me back right away, but when he does, it only fills my heart further. 

+++

**Baz**

Rosie’s asleep when we’re the last two left at school. She may have had too many sweets during the decorating party, and most of the other classes were activity-filled as opposed to anything academic. 

The closer it gets to a holiday, the harder it is to get these children to pay attention. I wouldn’t be surprised if sugar was involved in all of her classes because she crashed  _ hard _ at the beginning of the after school programme. But now that we’re free to go, we can finally make our way to the bakery. I’ll just have to wake her first.

Simon’s going to have a hard time getting her to sleep tonight and I’m solely responsible. 

She’s sprawled out across a desk, lips parted slightly. She doesn’t snore loudly, and it’s really a sight to see.

Rosie Salisbury is one adorable child. 

As much as I don’t want to wake her, I know I need to, so I walk over, crouch down, and gently nudge her shoulder. I have to do it a few times before she’s mostly awake. She offers me a sleepy smile and rubs her eyes before sitting up. 

“Can we go to the bakery now?” she asks while stretching. I stand and grab her bag. 

“Yupperuni,” I answer. 

At first, Rosie looks at me in disbelief. And then, I earn a giant grin. I smile back at her and we walk to the car hand in hand.

  
  


This is the first time I’ve seen the bakery, and when I pull up to it, I am both surprised and not. I thought it might have belonged to a strip of shops, but here it is, an adorable little cottage-turned store. It’s proper English with its thatch roof and large windows where I assume Simon advertises some of his baked goods. But the windows are barren now and the only sign of life is the light coming from the wrought iron chandelier I can see hanging inside. 

I can also see a curly-haired man bustling about, dusting the shelves. 

“I get to show you now!” Rosie shouts, opening the door before she actually unbuckles. She’s awkwardly caught up in the belt since she was too hasty, and she can’t reach over to dislodge herself because her car seat’s scooted from underneath her behind. 

I can’t quite find a learning lesson from this, other than the obvious, so I just laugh and climb out of the car. Rosie squeaks, “Help me!” as I close my door. 

And I do, but I can’t stop laughing as I save her from the seat belt. 

We walk into the bakery together, and as Rosie runs up to her father, I take a moment to look around. It’s a quaint little shop with a space to sit down and eat close to the register. 

Simon has a wide variety of baked goods to choose from—at least, all of the empty shelves that line the walls tell me he does. 

Sitting caddy-corner from the few small tables in the bakery is a large, round table that Simon is currently dusting. It has multiple tiers for more bread storing and it matches with the ashwood of the flooring and shelving. 

The bakery’s filled with light colours, but the dark accents add rustic touches to the place. The warmth of the lamplight also helps give it a welcoming feel. 

Personal objects are what tie the entire bakery together, though. Pictures of Rosie baking line the walls. Knick-knacks placed around the store. And there’s a shelf behind the cash register loaded with items that Snow used to have in his house. I recognise a few of them.

Even though I don’t need a comprehensive bakery tour after looking around myself, I allow Rosie to show me around anyway. She only points out a few more things I didn’t see, but once she’s done with her little tour, she finds something else to do. She tucks herself behind the register. 

Before I can investigate, I find Simon Snow making his way towards me. At first, he looks happy, but the closer he gets, the more I can see through that customer service smile. 

He’s worn out, emotionally. 

And he looks defeated.

The smile I’m wearing fades, as does his. 

“Want to go to the back, or…?”

Simon nods, so I follow him back to the kitchen. There’s a lingering smell of yeast—I’m sure it smells amazing when bread’s in the oven. 

“Spell or no spell?” I turn and find that Simon’s moved. It takes me a moment to locate him amongst a storage space for bags and ingredients. He’s sitting in a metal chair and he has another one pulled down for me as well.

“Spell,” he lets me know, and when I cast it, I sit across from him.

“So, what’s going on?” 

Simon doesn’t answer right away. He leans forward in his chair and runs his fingers through his hair like he does. I wouldn’t be surprised if Agatha was on his mind, but I don’t expect what he tells me. 

“Penny was the only person who came in today.” 

I keep myself from gawking, just to spare the discomfort Simon would find in me making a spectacle of it. Instead, I rest my hand on his knee. I don’t know what to say, but my heart hurts for him….

Simon has poured too much of his love and attention into this bakery for him to have a shitty first day. He named it after Rosie, allowed her to create the floor plan. This isn’t just a way for Simon to make money. It’s also a passion project. Not only has he failed to receive a decent amount of recognition and revenue the first day, I’m sure he also feels that he’s failed Rosie. I would pull him into my arms now, but I don’t want to suffocate him. 

Instead… instead, I decide that I’m going to find a way to make up for half of it. 

I might have to tread about it gently, but….

He’s going to get that money at the least. 

Just as I’m about to ask him how much he should be making a day, he lifts his head and sighs. “Take my mind off of this. How was your day? You look like a Christmas elf.” 

At least there’s a smile on his face. A hint of a smile twitches at my lips. “Well, we had our decorating party today. Rosie was a little ball of energy and probably had too much sugar. But she had fun—oh, and the children made their wishlists to Father Christmas today.”

Simon stiffens. Another money issue. 

“We do it in class so we can go through them and decide who needs an Angel for the year.” Maybe it’s too soon… “I know you feel like it’s a handout when I try to pay for you, but. We could go out and pick Rosie’s things out  _ together _ .”

Both humiliation and desperation reflect in the look that he gives me and it’s enough for me to pull him by the wrist and into my arms. “Stop beating yourself up, okay? You’ll get there, and even when you do, I’m right here. You’re not alone anymore. You never will be again. Okay?”

“I wish I didn’t fail at everything I do, Baz.” 

“Shh.” 

He squeezes me tighter, and I allow him to stay in my arms for as long as he needs to. I’m sure he could’ve fallen asleep like this, but he eventually climbs off me. It’s getting late. 

I could use this as an invitation to leave, but I’ll stay here with him until he’s ready to go. 

“Do you want me to stay with you again tonight?” I ask, standing. I wander closer towards him, but he pushes me back a little before opening the oven doors. He must be checking all of his equipment before we leave, starting with the oven. 

“As much as I want you to, I need some Rosie cuddles and as few questions as possible. But when do you want to go Christmas shopping?” 

Simon checks the top of the oven, making sure the appropriate lights are on and off, that sort of thing. 

I’m just glad that he accepted that offer… but how to propose me buying out the lot for the day….

“Well, our last day is Friday—”

“Rosie and I wanted to put up the tree that Friday.” Simon wipes the sweat from his brow and turns to me. “Wanna help?” 

“Of course.” A smile twitches onto my lips. “What days are you closed?”

“Saturdays and Sundays. You think we should shop on Sunday when we’re not so busy?” 

I nod, then allow Simon to work without much distraction. I check on Rosie a few times, walk around the building….

And when I notice Simon begin to pack up the bread that he's pulled from the shelves, I ask the question. 

“How much were you expecting to sell today?” 

I can tell Simon doesn’t want to talk about this, but he turns to face me nonetheless. He crosses his arms over his chest and doesn’t quite look at me when he says, “About a thousand pounds.” 

_ That’s all?  _ (And I am fully aware that I am privileged to have such a mindset, but when it’s pocket change to me, I know I can help him with this.)

Though I don’t have those types of notes on my person, I have my debit card. I go to fish it out, but a horrified look flashes across Simon’s face.

“Don’t you dare, Basilton—”

“I want to buy that amount. Of whatever you didn’t sell, Snow,” I respond, pulling my wallet from my pocket.

Simon’s a bit frantic and definitely frustrated now. He’s huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf. “And what are you going to do with all of it?”

I shrug. “Keep some, take some to school, donate some. I’m buying products here. I’m not just handing you money.” 

“B-but…” The frustration melts into that look he gives me when he hates that I’m right; it’s one of my favourites to see. “Fine. Give me your card.” 

I smile at him as I hand it over and he rolls his eyes but disappears to the front. To help him out, I finish up his job by stocking the rest of the bread on the appropriate shelves. 

That night, I go home with tonnes of bread in the boot and a smile on my face. It further spreads across my face when I can lay on my bed and not worry about another vampire ruining everything. 

Before I fall asleep, I get a text from Simon. 

**Thank you for being a pompous brat and for caring about me. I’ll see you on Friday. Xx**

I don’t remember ever falling asleep with a smile on my face, but I wake up with one there the next morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baz loves Simon Baz loves Simon Baz loves Simon
> 
> So, they bakery :(
> 
> QotC: How do you think the bakery will do? Is it a matter of, "It's just the first day," or do you think that this might be a sign?
> 
> Also, Idk if I'm gonna do the Question of the Chapter anymore no one really responds to them :/ HOWEVER, I am thankful for the comments I love reading them.
> 
> Have a great day!


	29. Chapter 29

**Baz**

By the end of the week, Simon’s beginning to feel better. I was worried that over time, he would begin to retreat from us. I was afraid he would push me away. When something is as… new as we are, I could easily be collateral he could trade for something else. But instead, he talked. 

Simon is opening up to me. He’s starting to lift the floodgates. Each and every day, he shows a little bit more of himself, and I’m cherishing every moment of it, even if it’s not in person. 

The first time he called me to  _ talk _ was Tuesday, and as soon as I picked up, he said, “How was your day? Tell me something good that happened.” 

Thing is, Simon and I already text so much anyway that he mostly knows what has happened, but he doesn’t care. He said to tell him again. And so, I would. 

I think he likes to listen. He doesn’t talk much, I’ve realised. At least verbally. I remember when he never used to. But we’re communicating. We’re getting across to each other. 

Which is a breath of relief. 

But as the week has passed, things are beginning to look up for him. Agatha’s lingering effect on his mind is beginning to fade and he’s getting more customers. Not enough for his liking, but I don’t think that will be much of an issue soon. (I happen to be on good terms with the school’s principal who likes a constant supply of food in the breakroom.) 

Last night, he started talking about  _ his _ day as opposed to him listening to mine first, and even though I was surprised, it’s something I like to hear. He’s still supposed to go to therapy on Saturday, but he’s doing better.

I like seeing him happier. A little lighter. Not weighed down by the world. 

That’s why I’m excited for today. I didn’t know I would be decorating a tree with the Snow-Salisburys last Friday, but here I am, spending time with my love interest and his daughter. 

Simon and I have spent time talking on the phone about that as well. 

Is Penny going to pick Rosie up or should she stay with me? They have a little plastic tree we could use, but real trees make the house smell good. Should we get new baubles? (Simon has several, and someone bought me a few sets as a housewarming gift. I used to think they were useless.)

We ultimately decided that I could have Rosie for the afternoon since we dismissed early. There were a few things I had to do before I could leave for the holiday, so Rosie stayed in my room and read while I turned in grades. 

But from now until six-thirty, Rosie and I can do whatever we want. 

As Rosie sits in her spot and buckles up, I twist around so I can talk to her face to face. She’s in the middle of latching the buckle when I do this, so when she looks up, I give her a proper spook. She screams out of surprise, then narrows her eyes at me. “ _ Hey _ .”

“Hey. Is there anything you want to do until we meet up with your daddy?” 

Rosie sits back against the seat and strokes her little chin. I think she does it to feel wise. Simon and I have shared a laugh over it. 

“I think we should watch Disney until Daddy gets home. And then we can decorate and watch more Disney.”

I’m surprised that she wouldn’t want to build a snowman (no pun intended) or play outside. A light dusting of snow’s fallen overnight, so it would be the perfect time to. 

When I mention it, she shakes her head. “No. Daddy needs to be with us.” 

So, I guess we’re watching Disney for a few hours. 

Thankfully, she does agree to sustenance. Before we make our way home, we find our favourite Italian restaurant.

Alice is very happy to see Rosie. 

Rosie runs up to her and Alice catches her, pressing a few kisses to her head. They talk about Christmas trees and what she wants to find under said tree.

I take in the restaurant for its Italian tiling and lingering lunch hour customers. Absentmindedly, I look for new faces, but when I can’t tell who has been here or not, I make my way towards the ladies. 

“Did you see anyone new?” Rosie asks me, then runs around me anyway to look for herself. 

Alice chuckles. I share a knowing glance with her. 

“Are you still babysitting her?” Alice asks, walking behind the register so she can order our food. I lean against the counter and glance back at Rosie. She’s squinting at a man rushing to finish his sandwich. 

“No, not technically. Simon’s friend is back.” I grab my wallet and slide my card towards her. “But they wanted to decorate the Christmas tree together, and I could never refuse Little Miss Salisbury.”

Or Simon, but I don’t know when would be the right time to tell anyone other than Bunce that we’re seeing each other. 

“Well, I hope you have fun tonight. You guys look like a proper little family. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Simon so happy.” She smiles as she hands me back my card and walks into the kitchen, leaving me alone to blush in private. 

(Even though I’m not exactly blushing, but I would be if I was sloshing with blood.)

I haven’t been with Simon long enough to worry if I make him happy or not, but it seems I do. I can’t help the small, satisfied smile that settles on my face. 

Rosie notices it when she sits next to me. “Did something happen?” She shifts in the chair and stands on her knees, peering over the half wall we’re sitting against. Then, she turns back to me again and pokes my cheek. 

I quirk a brow at her and she giggles. 

“Nothing really. I’m just in a good mood.” 

Rosie flops back onto the chair and crosses her arms. “I would be in a better mood if I saw new people.” 

“No one new?”

She shakes her head. “Notta.” 

+++

While Rosie gets comfortable for the day, I place our food on the coffee table and notice a few stacks of photographs laying about. I pick a stack up and start flipping through it; they’re all pictures I’ve taken. Simon’s talked about wanting to change some older photographs around the house (because of the subtle push I encouraged by taking all of those photos), but I had noticed a few at the bakery as well. I send him a text asking him what they’re for, and when he texts back, he says:  **I want to hang them up.**

Naturally, I reply. 

**I can. Any particular order?**

**No. Thank you Xx**

I only get to a few pictures before Rosie comes out in some leggings and a large tee. She looks like a mini Simon, both in fashion and physically. 

Like father like daughter. But she’ll need to get something more fitting on before we go pick out our tree. The collar of the shirt slides down her shoulder, so she has to pull it up every few seconds. 

After eating, we watch a few Disney movies.  _ Beauty and the Beast  _ and  _ The Little Mermaid _ . I’m surprised I didn’t fall asleep, and neither did she. But she did bury herself into my side and insist that I hold her hand. So I did the whole time, even when I needed to use the loo. 

We don’t bother watching another movie after  _ The Little Mermaid _ because Rosie decided she wanted to draw and I wanted to get on finishing those pictures. Plus, Simon would be home relatively soon. 

So now, she’s drawing and I’m going through all of these photos. I’m only choosing what I think would look best on the walls, but he has all of these pictures, so it’s ultimately his choice. From time to time, I do ask Rosie what she thinks, though. 

“Okay, here’s another,” I say and she looks up. I hold up two pictures. One with frosting smeared all over her face and the other where she’s fallen asleep covered in glitter and with that plastic tiara she loves. (A few days ago, I ordered a well made one from a costume jewellery company. She’s still too young for her to have any sort of heirloom, but we might have one she can keep in her room as decoration when she’s older.) 

Rosie looks between the two a few times and sighs, setting her pencil down. I catch a quick glance of what’s on the paper and it’s a black cat. 

I don’t think she’s going to give that up. 

“We were all happy on the frosting day,” Rosie says finally, then turns back to the cat she’s filling in with graphite. “It’s the day I wanted two daddies, but I thought that it couldn’t happen.” 

I hadn’t had the conversation with Rosie yet, she means. I chuckle quietly and take the back off of the picture frame so I can replace the baby picture. (Well, not  _ re _ place. I’m placing the newer pictures in front of the older ones.) 

By the time Simon’s home, I’m putting the last of the picture frames up and though not much changed with doing so, it looks livelier. Before, the picture frames needed a dusting, and the lack of updating almost gave the room a neglected feel, but when I step back and look, I feel like I’m in a house someone inhabits. 

There are still a few things I want to do, but now that Simon’s home, all I want to do is shower him with attention. 

  
  


**Simon**

I’m exhausted, but I’m feeling better than I have in days. Today’s the first day that I’ve been doing well in sales! It’s still not the thousand pounds Baz gave me the first night, but it’s much better than it’s been the first few days. I was under maybe a few hundred, but that’s so much better than the couple hundred I got the second day. 

Hopefully, with the holiday, more people will come in. I feel like Baz might haunt the bakery, but then again, he’s probably going to come around with Rosie a lot. (I’m thinking of asking Penny if she would be okay with Baz watching Rosie again. I know he loves to, and it gives them quality time to bond.) (I mean, only if he wants to babysit her again.) 

When I walk into the house, I find Baz hanging photographs and Rosie’s in front of the telly, drawing in her sketchbook. Rosie’s too zoned on her sketchbook, but Baz’s head turns the moment I walk in. And he’s grinning at me. I think if he could, he would walk over, give me a kiss on the temple, and say, “Welcome home, darling,” but Rosie’s right there and we haven’t said anything to her. (We’re going to need to eventually, but as soon as we confirm it, I don’t know how Rosie would react. That’s the hard thing about dating while being a single father—there is no affirmation that they’re going to stay until they actually do and Rosie doesn’t need that disappointment if he doesn’t.)

We’ll figure it out eventually, but with how hands-on we’ve been, she’ll probably see right through anything we tell her to deflect from the questions. I guess we’ll just have to be a bit more… sneaky. 

“What do you think?” Baz asks me. He’s standing back from the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He’s still gauging the pictures he’s just hung, and I drop my things by the door and stand by him. 

Something about the updated pictures makes the house seem more… alive. Almost like it’s starting to breathe again. Though I’ve always loved this house, it’s like we’ve been at a standstill for a long time. Now, it’s waking up from its four-year-long hibernation. 

The house needs a lot of maintenance, but this is a start. 

“This is perfect, actually. You didn’t have to—”

“Simon Snow, you know I want to.” He nudges me with my shoulder and gives me that look of humour and exasperation. Probably because I say he doesn’t have to do, well, any of this all of the time. 

I smile back at him, but before I can say anything, Rosie clings to my leg and buries her face in my hip. 

“Hey, Princess.” 

She smiles up at me and I bask in the light her face, her happiness, brings to me. I pick her up from the ground and hold her to where she’s facing me. 

“Are we gonna get the tree now?” 

“Do you have a place you want to put it?” Baz asks, turning away from the wall and towards the rest of the living room. 

I turn myself and Rosie around as well and I point towards the corner closest to the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Baz nods. “That looks like a proper place to put a Christmas tree. Should we take your car?” 

Considering that I have a minivan and he has some fancy sports car, mine’s the best choice. So, I nod and put Rosie down. “Sounds good. Let me get changed and we can go—want to wear any of my tees? I don’t want you to get anything on your dress shirt.” 

Baz, per usual, is wearing a button-down and slacks. He looks down at himself and shakes his head. “I have clothes in the car. I need to unload the baubles from the boot, anyway.” 

“Can I help?” Rosie asks, running towards Baz who has made it his mission to unload the boot. 

“Of course,” he says to her and they disappear out of the front door. 

While they unload, I shimmy out of my work clothes—a beige button-down and khaki trousers—and pull on a long tee and some jeans. Baz has let me know that he thinks I look quite fit in jeans and since we can’t be too touchy in front of Rosie, I need to find ways to flirt with him subtly. (I looked up ways to flirt without flirting and apparently “remembering hyper-specific things they tell you” is the number one way to do so.) 

Rosie and Baz are back in the living room once I’m dressed and the two have changed as well—how long was I in my room?—she’s in something warmer and he’s in jeans, a turtleneck, and a long coat. We’re staring at each other, lapping up what the other is wearing because this is the only form of a compliment that will fly over Rosie’s head. Plus she’s stacking baubles up in the corner, so she can’t see us eyeing each other. 

Baz doesn’t conserve himself, though. And he uses Rosie’s distraction to stalk over to me and lean in my ear to say, “You made a good choice with those jeans.” 

The tips of my ears burn and I rub at them; Baz finds this amusing and winks at me before making his way towards Rosie. 

“It would probably be a good idea to keep the boxes away from where we need to put the tree….”

  
  


**Baz**

Simon’s driving towards a Christmas tree farm about forty minutes away and so far, the car ride has been peaceful. He’s a good driver—maybe a little slow, but it’s snowing and Rosie’s in the back of the car.

Normally, this sort of driving would annoy me. I can pull out my wand and get us there in thirty minutes at  _ most _ . But Simon’s driving and Rosie’s in the back and if I can get any way to be with them longer, I will do it. 

Even if Simon’s going a little slow. 

We’re not singing Jingle Bells or any Christmas carols like they do in  _ The Christmas Story _ , but we’re keeping consistent conversation and Simon’s talking about how his day has been far better than the past several. 

If Rosie feels the need to say something, she does. But for the most part, she stays quiet and plays games on Simon’s phone. 

“Anyway,” Simon says when turning onto another street, “that was my day.” He sounds satisfied, Fulfilled. Not so hollow, and genuinely happy.  _ Good _ . I wasn’t too worried, but I couldn’t help but be just a little….

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” I tell him and I almost reach for his hand, but I catch Rosie looking at us in the mirror and begin to twiddle my thumbs. Something to keep my hands busy. “I was worried.” 

“I wish you weren’t,” he tells me, and though he’s not looking directly at me, I can tell his eyes have gone soft. “It was just a… moment.” 

I glimpse in the mirror again and notice Rosie’s knee-deep in whatever she’s playing, so I reach over and gently squeeze his thigh. 

Simon doesn’t seem too ticklish, but he squirms in his seat and shoots me a playful glare. I wink at him again, and he’s definitely got me wound around his finger because I’m grinning at the sight of his fondness. 

We arrive at the farm not long after and Rosie jumps out of the car and attaches herself to my legs. Simon’s off somewhere, probably finding out more about the farm—he would have one for self-sustenance if he had the chance—so his child attaches herself to the nearest person she knows. 

“Can I sit on your shoulders?” she begs, using those eyes on me that she knows will win any battle she’s in. I don’t bother fighting. I scoop her up by the armpits and place her on my shoulders in one swift motion. She squeals and grabs on my hair to regain balance, but once she’s fine and I’ve got my grip on her calves, she’s ready to go. 

“Can you see your daddy from up there?” I look up to only see Rosie’s chin, but I can tell she’s looking by the way she swivels from side to side. 

“Ah! There!” She points to Simon who pulled on a cap earlier. It’s a poinsettia red, so I should’ve been able to see it, but she has the bird’s eye view. I walk in the direction she points and we find that Simon is looking at the tag of a certain tree. 

“Interested?” I ask him. 

“I don’t know.” Simon steps back so he’s standing next to me and we give it another look. 

It’s a squat tree, easy for Rosie to decorate. Too small. Rosie could place the star on the tree without any assistance.

“I don’t like it,” Rosie lets us know. This  _ is _ ultimately for her, so we move on. 

The three of us wander around the snow-dusted dirt paths for at least half an hour, gazing at several different Christmas trees. To brighten the mood, the staff has strung lights and speakers along these walkways. This may have been the second time we’ve heard  _ Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, _ but this feeling, walking with Simon and Rosie, spending time with—are we?—family. I’m filled to the brim with warmth, and love, and admiration. 

We walk down these paths while Simon looks for the perfect tree and I can’t help but think as I gaze at his lovely face,  _ I am in love with you. I never knew I would be with you, right here, right now, but we’re standing here side by side. I could hold your hand if I really wanted to. _

Simon Snow was never a figment of my imagination, but he was intangible to me for such a long time. 

Now, he’s right here. Right next to me. 

I bump my hand against his to remind myself of this, and then it finds Rosie’s calf again. 

  
  


**Simon**

Having Baz next to me fills me with a sense of both thrill and longing. I could reach out and hold his hand if I really wanted to, but we haven’t told Rosie yet, so I don’t. But then he bumps his hand against mine and I wished I had. 

With Baz, with someone I have feelings for, right beside me, it reminds me of what I’ve been missing, and how this—us—is different. 

When I was with Agatha, it wasn’t like this. We had a live Christmas tree once and that was the year before she left. Rosie was on my shoulders much like she is on Baz’s now, and Agatha was on her phone relatively the whole time. She half-heartedly hung baubles with us, and when all was said and done, she found her way to the bedroom.    
  


Rosie and I spent at least an hour staring at the lights and drinking hot cocoa (warm cocoa for her—she was only two). She fell asleep in my lap and when I wanted to move her to the bed Agatha and I shared, she told me to put Rosie in the crib. 

Baz is not and will never be Agatha. I watch him now as he points to a tree and asks Rosie what she thinks; I look myself and I can feel a smile spread across my face. 

It all feels so cliche when we reach the tree at the end of the walkway. It’s illuminated by outdoor lights and the snow swirling about it gives it more of that magical—not magickal—touch. It’s a fir, I think, and would look lovely in our little home. 

“I love it,” I say, giving it another look as I get closer. The tree has a perfect amount of fluff out but isn’t far too wide. And the smell—

“Morgana, this smells amazing. You could cook some potpourri on the stove and the house will smell like a Christmas candle.” Baz stands beside me and hoists Rosie off of his shoulders for her to inspect, and when she’s behind the tree, Baz takes my hand and squeezes it. 

“This really is the perfect tree,” I tell him. 

“I think it’ll look beautiful.” And then, Baz turns to me and takes my other hand when he’s sure that Rosie won’t catch us. “Thank you for letting me be with you… for letting me do this with you. I finally feel like… like….”

“Like you belong with us?” 

Baz’s grey eyes twinkle with gold and blue. I could almost kiss him now. 

“Like I have a genuine purpose.” 

“Hey… you’re extremely purposeful, Baz.” Does he really feel this way about himself?

I can’t ask him. Rosie’s circled back around the tree and we let go of each other. “Let’s get it!” 

Baz is an absolute dream. I know he’s a teacher and that he’s paid to be good with kids, but Merlin, watching him with Rosie, again, reminds me of what I’ve been missing. Someone who loves me, and someone who loves my daughter as much as I do. 

Although I do interact with them, I also sit back and watch, just because I admire the two so much. 

They take turns hanging baubles on the tree, and when Rosie’s unsure of where to hang one, Baz points out a good spot and picks her up if needed. She helps him with the tree skirt by crawling behind the tree and tying it, and before lighting it up, we all take a break. 

Rosie sits with Baz on the couch and he has an arm wrapped around her as they relish their work. Her eyes weigh heavy with sleep, but she keeps herself awake.

And the cocoa and biscuits I’m bringing out may give her a second wind. 

I’m barely paying attention as I whisk up the cocoa powder. The entire night has filled me up. All of my problems—the Agatha thing, the store’s poor opening—seem so far away and there’s this smile on my face that won’t leave. 

Never in my life, other than the day of Rosie’s birth, have I been so happy. 

“Simon?” 

Baz enters the kitchen behind me, and although it’s a surprise to have his arms wrapped around me, I wouldn’t have wanted him to do anything else. I feel euphoric. I can almost see stars. 

“You know, I like it when you call me that.”

“Call you what?” Baz props his chin on my shoulder and I inhale sharply. This startles Baz because he jumps a little and almost pulls himself away. 

I put my hand over his so he doesn’t, and he eases back into holding me like he is. “Simon. When you use my first name. I just never told you that—is Rosie asleep?” 

“She crashed,” he chuckles. 

I want to stay right here forever. I close my eyes and allow myself to shift into his arms rather than have him clinging to my back. 

He holds me. Close. Tight. Security courses through me. And so does something else. 

At this moment, I am falling in love with Baz Pitch. 

  
  


**Baz**

Simon’s glowing. He’s so damn beautiful like this. When he’s vulnerable. I can run my fingers through his hair and his eyes are all bleary like he’s transversed this dimension. 

That’s when I realise that he’s burning on happiness, and I’ve never seen him this way before. 

I don’t ever want to see him come down again, because this is where he should remain.

“Do you want any help? Where are the biscuits? I could plate them.” 

Simon points to the breadbin but turns to face me. He’s all sappy, and I can’t help the overwhelming happiness filling  _ me _ like he’s pushing it into my veins. It’s almost like that one time he pushed magic into me. (I’ll never forget that feeling.) 

“Thank you for being here, Baz… and… and reminding me what it feels like to be cherished like this.” He squeezes one of my hands and turns back to finish the cocoa. 

I get my fill of this. Of Simon and the smile that won’t leave his face. How he moves about and the way his back flexes when he reaches for something to put in the pot. He’s beautiful—he’s always beautiful—like this when it’s my fault that he’s so happy. 

He’s so careless when he’s this loose. Like nothing can hurt him. And nothing will, not if I can help it. 

After plating the biscuits and filling mugs with cocoa, Simon and I make it to the couch. He gently wakes Rosie so she can have her fill of sweets and watch us light the tree. She sleepily accepts her cup of hot cocoa and shoves a biscuit into her mouth. 

“Are you ready for the lights?” Simon asks once we’ve divvied out the drinks and biscuits. 

“Yeah,” Rosie yawns, finding a way to lean against me again. I shuffle my fingers through her curls and smile at her when she looks up at me. 

Simon bends down and plugs in the tree, and when the lights turn on, all feels right. He turns off the living room lights and joins us on the sofa. 

We sit in silence for quite some time, and Rosie luckily finishes her cocoa before she drops the mug to the ground. I spell it away so none of us has to move, and Simon shifts closer to me by pulling Rosie into his lap. Her head ends up in mine. 

But we sit here, my arm wrapped around Simon as he tucks himself into my side. 

Could I love them any more? This little family? 

Here we are, defying all of the odds—my odds. 

I don’t want to end this peaceful silence, but I’m so filled with emotions that I feel the need to divulge. 

“I never thought that I would have this.” My voice is raspy, and my chest is full. 

Simon shifts slightly so he can look at me better. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t ever think I would be able to have  _ this _ . A family. I never thought I would live past the Humdrum. I never thought I’d live past you, and I certainly never thought I would be able to have this, or you, or a family. But… but here I am, with you here, and Rosie like this.” I gaze down at her and brush a few strands of hair from her eyes. “I thought I would be alone.” 

“After Agatha, I thought I would never be able to find love again.” Simon’s not in a position to kiss me, but he nuzzles his nose into my neck and my eyes involuntarily flutter closed. 

The things he makes me feel. 

“When should we tell Rosie?” Simon whispers now. 

“When you’re comfortable. When you’re sure of this.” 

For the first time tonight, Simon falters. I can feel him go rigid, and it doesn’t bother me because I expect it. He’s been through so much, it will be hard to jump right in. But I’m ready now, and I still will be when he is. 

Eventually, though, he softens in my side. “She’ll figure it out before we’re ready.”

“She’s smart.”

Simon nods, and he exhales deeply. He’s falling asleep, and I can begin to feel myself slip, too. But he manages to get a few words out before he’s gone. 

“It won’t be too long.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the mass amount of words, but I hope this is the fluff you've been looking for. 
> 
> QotC: What do you think is in store for Snowbaz Christmas?
> 
> We're getting closer to Rosie finding out, too! And Simon's opening up!!!!
> 
> ALSO THANK YOU FOR 300 KUDOS!
> 
> Anyway, until tomorrow!


	30. Chapter 30

**Baz**

The weekend seems to always fly by when I’m with the two people I love most, and as much as I hate that our time is fleeting, it’s only a day closer until I get to spend the rest of their lives with them. 

That’s what we’re going for, right? And if Simon lets me, that’s what we’ll have. 

We woke up on Saturday, a huddled mess on the sofa. Simon woke before I did, but I followed soon after and we shared an enamoured good morning gaze before I told him to get in some Rosie cuddles. I would make breakfast, and we could eat together. 

Of course, I had to argue with him over it. Whisper argue. Rosie waking up to the three of us cuddling would be a  _ dead _ giveaway. He gave up his fight rather quickly, probably because he didn’t want to wake up Rosie either. 

The day flowed along naturally, like the three of us were a team all of this time. I  _ offered _ to take Rosie into the lion’s den of the dance studio and Simon and I made it to our cafe. 

Fuck Lamb. He can try to overwrite our history, but we won’t let him. Whatever Simon and I have transcends his abuse. 

But we talked, or Simon did. We managed to get into a conversation about Rosie and what it was like to raise her as a stay-at-home-turned-single-father. I mentioned a baby picture I had a hard time changing out for a newer one; he laughed and went on and on about Rosie as an infant. 

_ Twinkle Twinkle Little Star  _ was her favourite nursery rhyme, and Simon tried to mostly feed her baby food he made himself. (He used to have a lovely garden in the backyard as well—I suggested that we could start working on planting when the weather let up and he loved the idea.) She could only use a certain baby lotion because the others irritated her sensitive skin, and she  _ loved _ to laugh. 

Simon enjoyed talking about Rosie as a baby, but I noticed that there was something melancholy in his glances. In the way he explained things. 

When I asked him about it, he explained that he always wanted another kid. It’s something he hopes can happen eventually. 

(Look at us, talking about children before our second date, but we’re an exception, aren’t we?)

The three of us ate together at Alice’s and Rosie finally got another customer to draw and stick on the wall. 

While the two were in therapy, I spent some time roaming shops. I don’t know what I want to get Simon for Christmas yet. He’s talked about wanting to get some new clothes and Merlin, I’ve wanted to dress him for the longest time. (Ever since I found out that he strictly wore a uniform, even when he didn’t need to.) 

We spent the rest of the night watching the telly with Rosie until she fell asleep, and I stayed the night because Simon asked me to. 

Sunday has come and though we don’t have school tomorrow, Rosie will become Bunce’s again. (Well, today, really. We’re taking her over so Simon and I can go Christmas shopping.) Honestly, I wish I could start watching her again. I love spending time with that little spitfire, and now that she’s not focused on schoolwork, I could teach her a few more spells. She has a bit of a heavy hand, but she’s  _ excellent _ . She just needs some reeling in. 

But it wouldn’t just be magic with her. It would be snow, and little plays she wants to put on, and playing with Barbies. Much like Simon, I would do anything for her. And I know Penny would too. Yet, I wish I could spend more time with her. As time progresses, I know I’ll be able to, but bonding is important when it comes to acclimating a permanent figure into a child’s life. 

No matter what, I’ll go with whatever Simon has planned. She’s  _ his _ daughter at the end of the day and I can’t make those decisions for him. 

For now, I can make breakfast. Dust the bookshelves. Liven up the flowers he keeps by his mother’s picture. 

I’m doing the latter now. 

“Honestly, I thought I was going insane. You’ve been magicking them this whole time.” 

Simon Snow’s up and awake amid my living room sweep, and he looks glorious in his stupor. Mildly puffy-faced, bright-eyed. His hair’s matted to one side and his wings are out for show, but I quickly fix him up. At least, the hair when he’s in my general vicinity. I run my fingers through his hair and flatten it where I need to, even though I know he’s going to take a shower after breakfast. 

“Wings off or on?” 

“Off. I’m going to make breakfast and don’t want to knock something down.” 

“All right.” And so I do, and he hugs me in thanks. 

Our currency is signs of affection. A hug. A nudge. We’re not kissing yet, but we will. I don’t want to push him. 

So he starts on breakfast and coffee, and I continue cleaning up. 

By the time breakfast is ready, I’ve finished cleaning—now, I’m just Windoleneing the picture frames. Simon walks into the living room with a mug and a hand on his hip. He still looks tired—happy, but tired. He starts stumbling towards me, but I meet him halfway. He hands me the coffee and it’s milky and I’m sure sweet. After showing him the pumpkin mocha breve, he’s got it in his head that I’ve got a sweet tooth. (He’s not wrong, but I think he’s trying to make a point.) 

“I can set the table,” I say, taking the cup from him.

“Actually,” Simon shuffles a little bit and rubs the back of his neck, “can you wake Rosie? Just to switch it up.”

I’m not mad at the offer; I smile. “Sure… of course.” 

Before I go, I pull him in with my free arm and press a kiss to his head. I leave him a blushing mess. 

Rosie’s contorted in a ball like she always is when she sleeps, and I take a moment to look over her. She’s snoring just a little, but she looks so serene. So… relaxed. I hate having to wake her up, but we need to get going. Simon and I have some presents to buy. 

I place my mug on the side table and take a seat below her feet. She stirs just a bit, but drifts back to sleep without even really waking. So, I begin to soothingly rub her back and say, “Rosie, dear… you need to wake up, love.” 

A few minutes of this does it, and when she opens her eyes, she grins at me. 

Merlin, I love that smile of hers. 

She crawls into my lap and latches her arms around my neck, so I loop my arms around her legs and stand. She adjusts herself in my arms a bit, but I’ve got her. She won’t fall on the way to the kitchen. 

We find Simon divvying out French toast and when the smell of it hits Rosie, she launches herself out of my arms and to her chair. She nearly knocks down her milk in the process, but I catch it and Simon shoots me a thankful look. 

Then, we sit down and eat. 

+++

“I forgot my sketchbook,” Rosie whines the minute we park at Bunce’s house. I can hear her frantically flipping through her things, and once the car is in park, I turn around. 

“Princess, I told you to double-check that you had everything before we left,” Simon says, turning around as well. He takes the bag from her and flips through it as she has a miniature pout fest. 

“Does your aunt have any paper you can draw on?” I ask her. Simon and I could go back and get the sketchbook, but this could serve as a lesson. She’s usually good at listening, but there are instances….

Just like running in the corridor. 

“Yeah, but it’s not the same,” Rosie says, taking her backpack back when Simon hands it to her. 

“Well, think of it this way,” he says while unbuckling, “you won’t forget it next time. Will you?” 

“No,” Rosie pouts. She unbuckles herself and climbs out of the car, leaving us alone. 

“She’s being a little brat,” Simon sighs, but there’s still a hint of a smile on his face. 

“All kids are brats, sometimes,” I tell him and squeeze his forearm. “It’s kind of cute.” 

Simon rolls his eyes, but he’s humoured nonetheless. “She won’t forget it next time.” 

We climb out of the car and follow Rosie up to the front door. Bunce has already opened it and is watching us with inquiring eyes. 

“What happened?” she asks as soon as we step in. I do a quick sweep of the room and Rosie’s nowhere to be seen. 

“She forgot her sketchbook,” Simon says, looking around for her as well. 

“Ah. Well, we have paper,” she says, then looks behind her. “I think she walked into Stevie’s room. Anyway”—she turns back to face us— “where are you headed?”

“London,” I say, and when I glance at Simon, he shrugs. 

“I still need to see her list.”

Oh. Yes. 

We can go over it and hash out where we want to go on the way to town. 

“Well, have fun,” she says and pulls Simon in by the arm for a hug. 

We take off for London a few minutes later. 

“So, where’s the list?” Simon asks, and I open the centre console. It lays on top of whatever’s in the pit of random junk. 

He picks it up and begins to read it over under his breath. Starting with the clothes, and then reading out her personal wants. 

Except they’re not toys this year.

Well. Not all of them. 

“She wants new curtains and bedsheets. And a Barbie—but she wants room stuff for the most part. Does she want a new room?” 

Rosie’s mentioned wanting something done to her room, and considering that she never sleeps in it, I wonder how long since it’s been updated. 

I know Simon likes having her cuddle with him at night, but it is important to see that emotional development of her sleeping in her own bed. 

“How long ago did you change it?” I ask him. 

“Well...once she was out of the crib.” 

That’s it. 

“Maybe this is her way of showing that she wants to grow.” I stop at the light and glance at Simon. “Maybe she’s finally ready to sleep in her own room and fixing it up will make it easier for her.” 

Simon’s eyes light up, but he also frowns a little. “I’m glad. That’s amazing. But….”

“She’s still your baby girl. That won’t change.” 

His hand slips into mine, and I entwine our fingers. 

“Don’t you think we should wait for her to decide what she wants it to look like?”

Rosie knows her father can’t afford much and it breaks my heart to see her be so conservative with what she wants. She may not know she’s had an Angel the past few years, but she knows that she won’t be able to expect much, so she didn’t say that she wanted a new bed, or a side table, or a lamp. She stuck to the least expensive changes. But if we presented the idea to her, she would love to design it. 

“We can say that she’ll get a new room on Christmas morning, and then she can draw it. And then we can take her out with us. Does that sound all right?” 

Simon pauses, and right before I start driving again, I see he looks confused. “We?”

I’ve been waiting to ask him.

“Come to Hampshire for Christmas.” 

The world around us seems to disappear. Once, ten years ago, I proposed the same idea. He thought it was insane, and he never came. I was left broken-hearted, and he was left with the woman he had a daughter with. 

Ten years ago, he said no. Ten years ago was where we went wrong. 

At the same time, I think it may have been for the best. I wish that he and Rosie never had to know the pain of losing someone. Of betrayal and heartbreak. However, without the time in between, Rosie wouldn’t have been born. I wouldn’t have become a Normal teacher. We wouldn’t have met as adults where we’ve matured and grown into ourselves. 

Simon doesn’t say no this time. He’s smiling, and he’s squeezing my hand tight. “Yes. I’d— _ we’d _ love to.” 

I’m smiling, too, and when we come to a stop, I lean over and hug him. He’s laughing, probably thinking it’s ridiculous that I’m hugging him at a stoplight, and I’m laughing too. But I’m too happy to keep it in. 

After a few minutes and a bout of me growing impatient with the traffic, I cast a few spells that allow me to both lean back and navigate traffic at a quicker pace. And we carry on with our gift discussion. 

“So, we should go ahead and get her clothes today,” Simon says as he looks back to the list. 

“And maybe that Barbie—do you think she would want some more art supplies? I don’t know how she would feel about markers, but I saw some really nice ones at an art supply store.” 

“She’s going to be so spoiled this Christmas,” Simon mumbles, placing the list on the console. He’s smiling about it, but I can tell he’s a bit uneasy. It may be the money thing, but I have it to burn, especially on them. 

“And then...well….”

I don’t think Rosie will rest until she gets that cat. 

“Something else? Baz, she’s already getting everything she wants at a tenfold. I don’t want you to spend as—”

“Simon, it’s what she deserves. Please don’t feel insecure about it.” 

“It’s hard not to when you’re the one buying everything.”

“I’m doing this because I love you two.” 

Per usual, Simon huffs when he’s frustrated. 

“I’m not doing this to flex,” I tell him, and I mean it. I want them both to have the best, but if it makes him uncomfortable… “I won’t do this if you don’t want me to.” 

Simon sulks for a moment, and he reclaims his hand to tuck it under his armpit. He’s thinking about it, and I can tell he’s not happy. 

“I wish I didn’t have to rely on someone else to make her happy, you know?”

“Of course I do. But it’s something that’s out of your control and it’s okay that you need the help.” I take his hand back and he lets me. “Let me help you….”

When he finally concedes, he rolls his eyes—a habit he must’ve picked up from me. “What were you going to suggest?” 

Now that he’s riled up, I don’t know if he’ll take well to it but I say it anyway. “Rosie really wants a cat….”

“You too?” Simon’s tugging at his hair, but I catch a glimpse of that amusement in his eyes. 

“It’s your house and your rules at the end of the day, obviously, but she’s been going on about it for a while….”

I can’t believe I’m encouraging this, and I don’t think he can either. He buries his face in his hands, and we turn off the motorway. 

“If we did, how would it affect you, Baz? You know, with your… well….”

“Just say vampirism. We both know it.” I roll my eyes. “But I have blood in the fridge and clearly self-control, since I’m surrounded by little blood donors every day. It wouldn’t bother me. Plus, I don’t live with you.” 

“Yeah… but in the future….”

Simon and I share a gaze, and we look away smiling. 

  
  


We spend several hours out wandering the streets of London, our arms laden with bags filled with gifts for Rosie.

Most of our time is spent together in department stores, finding cute outfits Rosie could wear. She’s more of a dress girl, but we buy a few leggings and shirts as well. (And jeans, but I’ve never seen her wear a pair once.) We also peruse the furniture to see what Rosie may like, but we don’t linger.

At one point, we diverge and I use it as an opportunity to buy gifts for my family and some clothing for Simon. I end up buying him five outfits and a suit to wear on Christmas Eve.

But as I wander around alone now, I wonder… is there something else I can get him as well? Something less material and from the heart? I know he said he wanted clothes, but….

Knowing how Simon is—knowing he got those matching aprons for him and Rosie—he likes personal touches. 

What could I get that’s not overbearing, but shows that I thought about what he would  _ really _ want versus what I heard him say he wanted? 

That’s when I stumble into the kitchenware. 

Simon’s never verbally complained about it, but I can tell he wants new baking equipment. He makes these faces when something doesn’t quite work to his liking, and more and more of his kitchen knives are disappearing. 

I saw a broken one in the bin just yesterday. 

But it would be a dead giveaway that I bought a kitchen’s worth of appliances if I walk out with my arms full tonight, so I find a clerk and within minutes, I pay for personalised kitchenware that will be shipped right to my door. 

Perfect. 

Simon and I find each other again in the food hall, and he’s bought gelato. He has two cups in his hands, and when I’m in arm’s length of him, he holds one out for me. 

I take it, and we find a table to sit at. 

“I could barely see you behind all of those bags,” Simon notes, scooping another mouthful of gelato into his mouth.

“I like to splurge during Christmastime, plus I have a large family.” I shake the rest of the bags off my arms and take a bite of mine. 

“Your family,” Simon mumbles under his breath. He shoves the gelato cup away from him. (He’s already finished.) “Are they all right with us coming?” 

I shrug. “I’ll let them know, but I want you to spend it with me—I want to spend Christmas with you.”

If any of my relatives try to pull something, we can leave. But it would be nice to spend time with them  _ and _ Simon under the same roof. 

I want Simon to feel wanted, and I think he wants  _ me _ to feel like this is a family. 

So, we might as well go down south. 

This seems to appease Simon. He nods, and once I finish my gelato, he takes our cups and throws them away. 

We make our way back to Bunce’s at sundown, and the snow’s falling even heavier. I think it made Simon nervous—he doesn’t quite enjoy riding in the car, anyway—but we make it to her place safe and in a timely manner. When we park, I begin to unbuckle but Simon grabs my arm. 

“Hey. Before we grab her. I wanted to ask you something.” 

I fully face him. “Is something the matter?”

Simon looks… stressed. His brows meet in the middle and his eyes are big and round like he’s done something wrong. But the look fades at my question and his mouth settles into a smile. “I. No, I don’t think so. Anyway. Would you like to watch Rosie again?” I think I may be making a face because he begins to look worried and sputters, “I mean, I thought you would like to spend time with her and—”

“No. I mean. Yes. Yes, I would love to look after her again. I love watching Rosie.” I take his hands and squeeze them between mine. “Of course.” 

We pick up Rosie with messy smiles on our face, and a few hours later, I’m invited to stay the night again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inch resting. 
> 
> So, Snowbaz will spend Christmas together.
> 
> Some of you have already posted your theories, but I will ask:
> 
> QotC: What do you think a Snowbaz Christmas in Hampshire will entail? They're supposed to spend a good chunk of time with them.
> 
> I hope you have an amazing day and I'll see you tomorrow!


	31. Chapter 31

**Simon**

When the last customer of the night walks out of the building, I’m quick to turn off the “Open” sign and lock the door. Today’s been my busiest so far,  I'm happy about it, but it was also overwhelming.  As soon as the store opened, people came in hordes to buy pastries and bread for the holidays. There was not a minute where the shop was empty, so restocking shelves was a bit of a feat. 

But now I’m closed, and I will be until the twenty-ninth. I get to spend the next six days with Baz and Rosie at his manor in Hampshire, and as nervous as I am to re-meet his family, it’ll be good to only worry about them and not store sales, or if I have enough bread, or if I’ll be able to afford more ingredients. 

It’ll be just Baz, Rosie, and Christmas spirits. 

As soon as I get home, we’re supposed to take off for the manor. Baz has been at home all day and was supposed to be packing my car discreetly (he shockingly allowed me to drive his fancy sportscar to work), but knowing how it’s been the past several days, he’s probably been glued to the couch watching the entire Disney catalogue. (That’s all they’ve been doing between bakery visits.)

At one point a couple of days ago, Baz forced Rosie outside and insisted that they had at least a ten-minute snowball fight, which segued into a day in the snow. Rosie passed out after her day out, so they didn’t come see me for their daily visit.

Now that I get to spend time with them, I’m hoping that Rosie will be a little less telly-happy and more interactive all around, but Baz says he enjoys his time with her. She gives him very insightful opinions on each movie, surely influenced by Penny. Apparently, she knows what Stockholm Syndrome is and thought that Ursula was actually the hero of  _ The Little Mermaid _ because she tried to warn Ariel that “looks don’t mean everything.” 

**I love this little feminist** , Baz texted me when she said that. 

I haven’t gotten many texts today. No updates on the car packing. Just,  **Everything all right?** and  **Rosie’s been silly all day. You’ll see later** . 

My guess is that he’s saving any good conversation for the drive over. A couple of nights ago, I asked him how his day was and he said, “Snow, you must grow tired of that question if I’m practically live texting you my day.”

I told him that I liked listening to him actually talking about it, and he got all soft at it. 

But he’s sent a lot fewer texts since. I don’t mind  _ that _ much, as long as I get an earful of it when I walk through the front door. 

Checking to make sure everything’s in place takes me a few minutes—seeing that the oven’s off, the freezer’s on—the cleaning takes me another ten, and the counting takes the longest, but as soon as I’m done, I’m left gobsmacked. I’ve made triple my goal this past day, just about three thousand pounds. I knew I’d be over, but by this much?

I want to call Baz, tell him right away, but before I can, I stop myself. Expelling the excitement now won’t let him see it on my face later. At least, not in the same way, and he’s told me that he loves to see me smile. With my eyes. My mouth. 

So, I hold it in but I do allow myself to jump up and down a couple of times. (I’m sure I look ridiculous….)

Once everything in the bakery is in place, I make my way back to the house. 

Baz must’ve been expecting me because he’s standing outside when I pull up beside him in the park. My car’s running and sputtering with life as exhaust puffs out the back. I guess he’s warming it up for the trip—we’ll need to get some petrol before we make our way down. 

I climb out of his car and the moment our eyes meet, a massive grin fills up my face. He looks confused, but in a pleasant way, and takes his keys when I hand them over. 

“Good news, I’m guessing?” he asks, shoving the keys in his pocket. 

“I’ve made triple of my daily estimate,” I tell him, and before I can say anything else, I’m enveloped in his arms.

“I knew you were going to do well, Simon. I knew it,” he gushes, rocking us side to side and I’m so surprised by how he pounced on me that I stand there for a minute, wondering if this is really happening. But it is, and I ease into him, taking him in, giving myself to him bit by bit. 

And then I feel little arms wrap around our legs. 

I freeze first, then Baz, who gives me an alarmed glance before looking down at Rosie. 

“What? I want a hug sandwich!”

Baz and I ease up a little and he pulls her into his arms so she can be squished in the middle of us. And when we hug her, she laps up the love she’s receiving. (It’s what she deserves.) 

At some point in the near future, Baz and I will need to talk about when we should tell Rosie about us. I’m surprised she hasn’t started asking questions yet, but she will soon… she will if she sees these hugs and tender moments between me and Baz more often. 

But what do we tell her? What do we tell her so that doesn’t get her hopes too high? (Mind you, I want Baz to be forever. I want him to be our constant. But I’m so used to losing everything that I don’t know where to start.) Baz will talk me down. He’ll put my thoughts together, and he’ll tell me he’s not going anywhere. 

I believe him, but the word “but” is a permanent roadblock in my life. The walls are starting to deteriorate….

It just takes some time. 

Baz eventually sets Rosie down on the ground and she runs back into the house screaming something about a fort. I’ll go in in a minute to make sure we have everything—and to grab Baz’s gift—but just to check….

“So, everything’s packed?” I glance just past him, but I can’t see into the boot. 

“Everything, but I made sure to put our things on top of the gifts.”

“Rosie’s bag filled?” 

“She has her ballet slippers in case she wants to dance, her sketchbook, coloured pencils, and I caved and gave her a few markers today to see if she’ll like them.” Baz laughs, then continues, “We’re set to go, unless there’s anything you need to bring—oh. And Rosie wants to show you the fort we made.”

They made a fort without me? 

I follow Baz into the house, and sure enough, there’s a large fort in the living room, utilising almost all of the furniture in the room. It’s a completely brilliant mess, but Baz pulls his wand out and kneels where there’s a slit in the blankets. 

“What’s the password?” a disembodied Rosie says. 

“Bandersnatch.”

Did Rosie come up with that? 

Before I can ask, Baz slips in halfway. “Are you ready to go to the mansion?” 

“Yeah! Can I try the spell to clean up?”

“Not right now, sweetheart. But when there’s a smaller mess. All right?”

Something about Baz calling her sweetheart makes me smile, and watching him pull her out from the fort makes my heart feel full. 

When we do finally decide to tell Rosie, it won’t be hard for her to accept it—it’s what she wants. But in moments like this, in moments when Baz is showing her how to hold the wand and cast a spell, it makes me want to say something. To dote on him in front of her. To go ahead and ask Baz to move in with us because it’s not going too fast if we’ve known each other for ages. 

But I’m brought back to reality when Rosie’s out of sight, and the fort’s disappeared, and I know we need to get going. 

Baz sticks his hand out for me, and I look up at him. He’s smiling. 

We need to have the conversation soon. It’s hard containing my affection for him when I see him like this. 

He hoists me up, but Rosie walks into the living room so we can’t linger in the moment. Instead, he asks, “Got everything?” 

After grabbing what I need, we take off for Hampshire. 

+++

It’s late when we get to the manor, but it’s not so late that Baz’s little brother is asleep. He’s the first one to see us arrive and leaves almost immediately. I guess he’s getting the parents. 

“Is she getting heavy?” Baz asks me, shutting the front door behind him. Rosie’s asleep, so I had to fetch her from the backseat. 

“A little,” I concede. 

Baz gently plucks her from my arms and her head lolls onto his shoulder as soon as he has her on his hip. 

“Oh, Basilton,” Baz’s step-mum says. She’s a lovely woman—dark-haired and round-cheeked. She follows behind a parade of his siblings, who look like they’ve been chided into coming into the foyer. All except the oldest, who practically runs up to Baz until she notices Rosie in his arms. She stops short, but he pulls her under his arm and she hugs him the best she can. 

While he leans in to tell her something, Mrs Grimm approaches me looking like she can’t quite believe her eyes, and I don’t blame her. I don’t exactly look like the Chosen One anymore. 

“Mother,” Baz says, also hugging her, but her eyes are glued on me and I don’t know quite what to say. I should just introduce myself, but as what? “This is Simon Snow, my old roommate. Simon, my step-mum, Daphne Grimm.”

Daphne snaps out of her shock to give Baz an,  _ Are you sure he’s just your old roommate? _ look. 

Who brings their old roommate and their daughter over for Christmas, anyway? 

“And then who’s this?” Daphne says more softly and with a smile on her face. She takes a peek at Rosie. She’s still asleep and is probably drooling on Baz’s collar. She’s  _ out _ . 

“Simon’s daughter. Her name’s Rosie,” Baz says, turning a bit so Daphne can get a better look. 

While they talk, I take my time to look around a bit. The rest of the kids have found their way back to whatever they were doing before, all except for his oldest sister. She’s sitting on the stairs, texting. 

I’m brought back to the conversation when someone touches my arm. I turn to see Daphne smiling at me, but she still seems a little surprised. “Is there anything Rosie would like for breakfast? Anything in particular? It’s a bit late for dinner, but I thought it might be nice for us to eat together tomorrow.” 

Baz and I share a look, but he says, “She loves French toast.” 

Daphne’s brow quirks, but her expression quickly fades into a look that suggests she’s just figured out a secret. (Honestly, anyone above the age of ten could figure it out.) 

“All right. I’ll see the two of you tomorrow, then.” She gives Baz a kiss on the cheek and disappears down the same hallway that she appeared from. 

We don’t linger any longer in the foyer and begin to make our way up the stairs and deep into the House of Pitch. It’s so dark, I’m surprised I don’t stumble on anything, and there are bits and pieces of architecture that scare  _ me _ . I didn’t expect Baz’s house to be comfy-cosy by any means, but I’m beginning to worry that Rosie might wake up in the middle of the night and come face to face with a statue of some magickal creature that scares her half to death. 

Even Baz’s room has no comfort, but it’s certainly suited for an angsty teenage vampire. Red. Drapery. Gargoyles  _ on _ the moulding of his bedframe. 

How did he, or his siblings, grow up here?

“I can sleep on the sofa and you and Rosie have my bed,” Baz says, peeling back the sheets so he can lay Rosie down. (I had her put on pyjamas before we left because I didn’t have any doubt that she would pass out.) He pulls her shoes off and sets them aside before tucking her in further. 

We’re about to go back downstairs to grab the rest of our things, but Baz’s sister is standing in front of the door, looking bored. 

“Mordelia, what are you—”

“Your attention span is getting short,” she says, leaning against the doorframe. “You wanted to ask if I could do something for you and you already forgot.” 

Baz rolls his eyes. “Forgive me.”

She smiles mischievously.

“I just wanted to see how interested you would be in watching a kitten tomorrow night.”

Mordelia’s eyes widen. “Wait, what?”

“We’re getting Rosie a kitten for Christmas.” 

I sit on the couch, watching the siblings. 

“Really?” The semi-cool appearance Mordelia was putting on fades when she glances just beyond Baz’s shoulder. “Well...I’d be fine with that.”

“Thank you,” Baz says like he didn’t expect anything different. He reaches behind her and pulls the door open. “Good night.” 

She waves him off and walks out. 

Baz has such a different dynamic with his family than he does with me and Rosie. He’s not quite cool, but he’s certainly not as warm. Maybe it’s the atmosphere—I hope it’s the atmosphere.

“Should we get the rest of our things?” Baz asks me after a moment, and I gaze up to find him standing right in front of me, peering down with warmth in his eyes. 

I guess it’s the dynamic, then. 

We unload the rest of the car and go to sleep after a few hours of talking about anything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I really don't have much to say this time XD
> 
> Anyway, I hope y'all have a good day! Tomorrow's a BIG chapter!


	32. Chapter 32

**Baz**

Next morning’s breakfast is not too terribly painful, and I think it may be because my father has remained silent for the entirety of breakfast. What could he say, exactly? He has zero ammunition against Simon anymore because, in the end, he accidentally helped “our side.” (I don’t claim any other side than Simon’s now.) He’s not intermingled with the Mage anymore, and he’s grown, we’ve grown into people we never knew we would be in the first place. 

I do expect a discussion at some point today, just not when we’re out and about Hampshire, finding the cat of Rosie’s dreams, or any time while Rosie’s around, for that matter. I know my father and I know he thinks that I have a plan. (I don’t, other than wanting my family to spend time with me and my—is he?—boyfriend. Just good old family bonding.) 

Mother, though, did have thousands of questions to ask Simon, and though she didn’t get too personal, Simon’s a blundering mess. Not to mention that when he’s trying to eat, it’s not a great idea to speak to him unless you want crumbs sprayed on your front. But she asked him things like, “What are you doing now?” “Any plans on joining the Coven?” (Father blanched at that question.) “Where does Rosie go to school?” 

That was a fun question to answer because when the table found out that I’m Rosie’s GT teacher, my sisters couldn’t get enough. 

“Please don’t tell me you two are dating,” Ophelia snorted between bites of French toast, “the whole teacher-slash-student parent thing is such a cliche trope!” 

I froze.

Simon turned a shade of pink I’ve never seen him turn before. 

Mother said, “Now, Ophelia.”

And Rosie, the precious little girl said, “I actually want two daddies.” 

Father had to leave the table, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s beside himself that I brought home my love interest for Christmas or because the entire scenario that had played out was too funny. 

Because it was—funny. 

Embarrassing—Simon slid down the chair and I’m sure he wanted to disappear on the spot—but even Mother was trying to hold back a giggle herself. 

After breakfast, Simon, Rosie, and I slipped back up to my bedroom to get ready for the day. Now that Simon and I are heading out to find a kitten perfect for Rosie, I need to see if Mordelia would mind babysitting her. 

I could ask Mother, but I think Mordelia and Rosie might have a better bond—I still remember when Mordelia was Rosie’s age, and they’re similar in some ways. 

Not that Mother would dislike Rosie—she already likes her, a lot, but I don’t know if she’d have the time to take Rosie outside and walk around. (Mother likes to help with Christmas prep so Vera doesn’t have to do it alone.) Mordelia would be more up to the task. 

When I find her in her room, she’s painting her toenails. Perfect. 

“Hey, Basil, remember when you used to berate me for barging into your room?” She gives me this deadpan look and sticks the brush back into the varnish. 

Just so it won’t turn into an argument, I step out, close the door, and knock. 

“Come in.” 

I roll my eyes and do just that. 

She’s back to her nails. “What do you need?”

“Would you like to watch over Rosie today?” I lean against the doorframe and watch her paint another stripe up her nail. 

“Sure. Anything in it for me? After all, I  _ am  _ watching over a cat for you, too.” 

I actually was willing to pay her, but I’m starting to feel a bit antagonistic. My family brings it out of me. “I mean, you will be spending quality time with your future niece.”

Mordelia’s in the middle of dunking the brush back into the varnish, but accidentally knocks the bottle over. She gawks at me. “ _ Niece? _ What?”

“Well, if things go right….”

“So you’re telling me that you’re  _ really _ ,  _ actually _ dating the Chosen One-turned-single father?”

I shrug like it’s not a big deal, because it isn’t to me. He’s just Simon. 

“That’s like dating a comic book hero. Holy Morgana.” She screws the lid back on and pulls her knees to her chest. “What’s it like? Is he still like… you know, Normal?”

I don’t have time for this, so I begin to tap my foot against the floor and cross my arms. “He’s an active mage again, not as powerful, but Rosie’s good. Don’t teach her anything bad and  _ please _ don’t ask or say anything about my relationship with him. We still haven’t told her.” 

“I bet she already knows.” She pushes herself off of the floor, grabs her wand, and magicks away the mess. “Anyway, where is she? I feel the need to make her like me now.” 

Once we know Rosie’s comfortable with Mordelia and is planning to make a snowman, Simon informs her of Rosie’s allergies and hands over an Epipen. 

“Where are you going?” Rosie asks Simon. She doesn’t look upset, just curious. 

“They’re just running a couple of errands and you’re staying here with me,” Mordelia says, swooping in to grab Rosie’s attention. It does the trick, and Mordelia continues, “I’m going to be teaching you a few fun spells after we make a snowman.”

After we say our goodbyes, Simon and I slip into the car and down the road to the animal shelter. 

During the first few moments of the drive, Simon seems… out of it. He’s full of thousand-yard stares and he doesn’t seem entirely there, but when I say, “Simon,” he snaps out of it. 

And now, he seems fully in the moment, and filled with purpose. 

“We need to talk,” he says, and I flinch. Just a bit. But he notices and takes my hand. (Which was sitting on the console for him to take.) “Not in that way, Baz.” 

“Those are the four words no one wants to hear, Snow.” 

“And you know I can be tactless.  _ Anyway _ , when do you think we should tell Rosie?” 

I almost stomp on the brakes, and though it would only throw us forward—no one’s in front or behind us—I keep myself from doing so. 

“About us?” 

Simon’s shy, but his eyes are smiling. “Yeah….” 

As much as I didn’t expect this conversation to happen so soon, Rosie’s going to figure it out, and I guess he wants to tell her before she thinks that we’re trying to keep something from her. (We are keeping something from her—a  _ few _ somethings—but it’s kind of hard to cover up a relationship when we’re spending Christmas together.) 

“Well, are you ready to talk about it with her?” 

Simon shrugs, but he stares out of the window and looks around like he’s searching for something. “Everything’s happening right now. I don’t want her to find out on her own, though. I want to sit down and talk to her so she can  _ understand _ .” Simon slouches back. “We  _ have _ to talk to her about it.” 

Though I do agree with him on that, I want to know his thought process. “What do you mean by ‘understand’?”

“Well.” Simon sits back up a little bit and runs a hand through his hair, “Not everything is permanent, even if we want it to be.” 

I don’t think Simon means to sound so… morose, or that he’s trying to imply that  _ this _ will be temporary, but it certainly sounds it.

“Baz, you know that’s not what I mean. It’s just hard to think of forever when we’re so new. And what if something… I don’t know. What if something happens?” 

Simon’s pulling his hand close to my chest and I’m starting to feel like the wind’s been sucked from my sails. I’m just driving, now. And my brain is… well, it’s here, but I feel numb. 

“You’ve had rough conversations with her before, but this isn’t something you should tell her.” I sigh, turning onto a smaller road. “Think about it. ‘Hey, Rosie! I’m seeing your teacher. But everything is temporary so he might not be a part of our life five years from now.’”

My voice falls flat. So does my face. But I can see Simon get more upset in my peripheral. 

“I just don’t want her to get so attached that—”

“Then we don’t need to tell her now. I don’t think you’re ready for the conversation if you’re so sure something’s going to happen to drive us apart at the drop of a pen.” I turn again, and a little harshly because both Simon and I sway with the turn. 

“I don’t think anything will, but—”

“That ‘but’ is holding you back, Simon. You already know how I feel. I know it’s hard to dissociate yourself from your worries about bringing me into Rosie’s life in such a permanent manner, but I’m not Agatha and we have far better communication than you’ve ever had with her. At least, from what you’re telling me. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. We can when you’re ready, but—”

“Baz. Put those spells on the car or whatever and look at me.” 

I don’t. Not for a few minutes, at least. I’m trying to keep myself from brooding when I’m supposed to be happy about getting a bleeding kitten for my future daughter. But then I do and turn to him. He has a sorry look on his face. 

“I’m working on it, Baz.” He takes my hands because this is the only form of affection he can show me right now. But his blue gaze is working, and I know… I know he means it. So I allow my walls to crumble. I’ve shown him vulnerable before, but the idea of losing something I’ve worked to have….

“I know you are.”

“And I know. I know that you won’t leave me—that I don’t have to worry about that. But… I’ve been abandoned my whole life. My father, my wife. I only know abandonment, so when someone comes in and says they’ll be there forever, it’s hard for me to process… and understand.” 

I would pull him right over this console if I could; it’s been a constant block of affection. But I pepper his knuckles in kisses and show him any way that I can that  _ I’m right here _ , and that  _ I will always be _ . 

“Simon, I know.” 

His hands roam my face and rake through my hair. I kiss the pads of his thumbs as they brush past my lips. 

I’m a fool for him.

“We’ll tell her soon, okay? I don’t want her to find out. How about… is after Christmas all right?” 

I would kiss him now if we weren’t in the middle of fighting over Simon’s trust. He pulls his hand from my face, but he’s back to holding hands. 

“I’m ready whenever you are.” 

Simon and I are hand in hand as we walk into the shelter, and he’s squeezed up against me. I think he feels bad for our tiff, but I understand. I understand why he’s so insecure, but I would never, ever go away unless he wanted me to. But projecting his fears onto Rosie… it’s not a good thing to do. She may have experienced pain from Agatha’s parting, but Merlin….

I’m not Agatha. I’m not the person to abandon anyone out of the blue. And after seventeen years of my love being unrequited… I would never give it up. 

Simon’s too important to me, and so is Rosie. 

He’ll come to me about it again. He’ll ask how we should go about it. And I’ll say that we should tell her upfront and ask if she has any questions, and she will. But giving her a straight talk about permanence is a terrible idea. 

I know he had Rosie’s best interest at heart, but that would suggest that she should constantly expect the worst. 

She doesn’t need that. He doesn’t need that, either. 

I need to pull myself from that, now. Simon Snow is right next to me and we’re looking for a kitten. He’s here, and I’m next to him. And we’re approaching a room filled with kittens and their mother.

The volunteer smiles at me and gives me some hand sanitiser, and once I’m clean I walk into the room. 

Simon’s already been approached by an inquisitive little white cat, but he’s trying to draw the only black kitten in the litter’s attention. It seems preoccupied with grooming itself, but the little white one won’t leave Simon alone. Well, until it sees me. 

I crouch next to Simon and the little thing skitters up to me, mewing a storm. 

Simon falls to his arse and huffs. “Rosie wants a black cat, but it’s not even giving us the time of day.”

“Well, I think we’ve been picked,” I say, sitting as well. The curious little cat crawls into my lap and stares me in the eye, mewing again. 

“But it’s white, Baz,” he points out but he reaches over and begins to pet it. 

“She doesn’t have to know that there was a black cat here.” I shrug and lean back onto my palms. “I mean, the black one doesn’t seem too keen on us—but look at this one”—the white cat climbs off of me and up Simon’s leg—“it’s crawling into your lap. It loves you.” 

The little white one crawls further up to Simon and makes it a mission to climb up his shirt. Simon’s chuckling, cupping the thing in his hands, and I watch the two of them fondly. 

That’s our cat. 

“I just don’t want Rosie to be sad that it’s white.” He starts to stand, and the volunteer comes over to take the cat from him. I stand myself and meet him in the middle, picking a few cat hairs off of his jumper. 

“I don’t think she will be. You know she’ll be grateful for what she gets.” 

Our hands meet again, and he laces our fingers together. 

“You’re right.” 

While I fill out the paperwork for the kitten, Simon can’t quit staring at me. I don’t know what’s running through his mind, but with as well as we’ve been communicating recently, I’m sure he’ll tell me later. 

That’ sone of the reasons that I’m glad that we found each other now rather than earlier. He tries to communicate. He used to close up, whether he realised it or not. 

It’s endearing to know he wants to talk. 

I end up naming the cat Shadow, even though it’s white. Simon looks at me oddly when I write it down on the paper and says, “But it’s not black—it’s not grey, either.”

“That’s the beauty in irony, Snow,” I tell him as I hand back the paperwork. 

The nice thing about the shelter is that it also carries all of the essentials a cat will need. A litter box, litter, food, bowls. We get all of it here, and when we’re ready to go, Simon offers to drive while I hold the kitten. 

We’re a few minutes away from the manor when Simon decides to strike up a conversation. 

“Actually, I think I’m ready to tell Rosie now.” 

Although Simon’s shy about it, he sounds certain in what he’s saying. I place the kitten in the little crate we got her and latch it shut. “What makes you sure now?”

“Well,” Simon wrings the wheel and sighs. “You’re right. About the word ‘but.’ I need to take a leap if I want to move forward, and I want to. With you. And Rosie.” 

The look Simon gives me is so sticky sweet, it scrambles my insides. This is the only person who could ever give me sodding butterflies. 

“Do you know how you want to go about it?” 

Simon’s gaze shifts. I know what he’s going to say before he does. “How would you want to tell her?” 

Putting one hand on top of the crate, I rest the other elbow on the console and prop my chin in my palm. “We sit her down, tell her, and ask her if she has any questions.”

“That simple?” 

He’s just now turning into the car park, and when he comes to a stop, he looks down at me. 

I don’t like it.

His lips are far too close to mine. He could pucker and we’d be kissing, and I think he likes torturing me like this because he smirks. Just slightly. 

I pull away to refuse him that satisfaction. 

“Yes. Now, we’ve parked behind my aunt and you may think she’s a bitch but I would like to see her.” 

I climb out of the car before Simon can defend himself. 

Rosie isn’t allowed in the library, but Mordelia’s seemed to break that anyone-under-a-certain-age rule because Rosie’s bundled up next to the fire in a blanket. They’re facing away from us and she leans against Mordelia. The two are talking softly, huddled over. I think Mordelia’s showing her spells. 

Fiona’s on the other side, her presence disrupting the elegance of the library. But she is certainly an addition I cherish. She’s got her Doc Marten boots up on a side table and is flipping through some Normal magazine. Some things change, but I don’t think she ever will. And I appreciate that about her. 

“Daddy!” Rosie says, hopping up from the ground. She’s got a wand in her hand, and Mordelia catches her around the middle and pulls her down into her lap. 

“Silly! You’re not supposed to run with a wand! Were you about to run with a wand?” Mordelia quirks a brow, and it makes Rosie giggle. 

Simon and I glance at each other, and when I raise my own brow, he mouths, “After dinner.” 

It’s nice seeing Rosie get along with the family, and when we tell her, Rosie will certainly feel like she’s part of it. 

I hope Simon feels like he is, too.

After Mordelia reclaims her wand, she stands up and walks past me—I hand her the keys to the car in the process. She just needs to grab the cat’s things; we already put Shadow in her bedroom. 

“That’s one cute kid,” Aunt Fi says, finally presenting herself. She sits upright in the chair and sets the magazine aside. 

Fiona knows about Simon and Rosie. I told her about them the night I finally took care of Lamb. She knows not to mess with them. She might take the piss, but she’ll never spell Simon’s feet to the ground again, or try to take his voice. 

Simon’s still a bit black and white, though. Not completely anymore. The more life you live, the more you learn that you can’t think that way without being willfully ignorant. But Fi did mess with him a few times. And she was in the Mage’s office a lot. 

Now, Simon stares at her, somewhat confused. She did just compliment Rosie, and as she runs up to him and into his arms, he snaps out of his haze. 

“Oh. Uh, thank you.” 

“What did you do while we were gone?” I ask Rosie when I get my hug. I pick her up as well, and she wraps her arms around my neck. 

“We went outside, but then Aunt Fi came and she showed me some fire magic!”

“Oh?” Simon laughs nervously, and when Fiona wraps an arm around him, he sends me a look that screams for help. 

I’m trying not to grin, and Rosie has no idea what’s going on. She’s just amused with the fact that she’s learning more magic, I suppose. 

Aunt Fiona wouldn’t show her how to do any of it, but I don’t think Simon knows that because when Rosie asks, “Can I have someone’s wand?” Simon goes so pale, he’s as white as the snow on the ground. 

We spend a few more minutes settling in and exchanging pleasantries with Fiona before Simon gets comfortable, and when he finally does, it’s almost miraculous. He manages to hold a civil conversation with Fiona, and when Mordelia slips in and steals Rosie away again, we can talk like adults. 

Not that bringing Simon around my family was a test by any means, but if there were any discomfort that erred on the side of belligerence, well… it wouldn’t be great. I don’t think he’ll bring me closer to my family than I already am, especially my father by any means, but… it’s nice having him here. 

Simon and Fiona are actually talking by themselves by the time we need to start getting ready for Christmas Eve dinner. His wings managed to pop out without him really noticing. I swear I’ve never seen Fiona scared before, but he allowed her to touch them, and let her know he had a tail, too. 

(I don’t think she’ll tell anyone about that—she harbours enough of my secrets and she wouldn’t dare sabotage me.)

While we’re making it up to my bedroom to get ready for dinner, Simon’s spouting off about how interesting Fiona is, which is a twist I’ve never expected. 

“I can’t believe she’s a vampire hunter. Like? Why would she be if you…?” He stops himself when I glare at him. My glare turns into a smile as I pass him and walk into my room. 

Rosie’s already there, Mordelia behind her and plaiting her curls into a crown. The sight is something to behold, and when I catch a glimpse of Simon, he’s beaming at them. 

I can’t wait to tell Rosie….

“Are you almost done?” I ask the girls. Approaching them, I notice that Rosie’s wearing one of Mordelia’s old dresses. We got her something to wear, but I think this is nicer—Rosie wearing something of my sister’s. 

Rosie stares at me through the mirror and smiles—she’s glowing. 

“Just about—let me….” Mordelia sticks one more hairgrip in Rosie’s hair, sprinkles her hair with stardust—which Mordelia knows to Rosie’s delight—and leans back. 

Mordelia’s already dressed and made up as well. 

Rosie runs over to Simon and the look on his face—it’s something. His eyes are alight and it’s like he’s falling in love with her again. He kneels down to reach her eye level, and he twirls her around before pulling her into his arms. 

“You look beautiful, Princess,” Simon whispers in her ear. 

“I can bring her down with me if you blokes want to to get ready,” Mordelia says, standing. 

Simon’s still in awe, so I answer for us. “Thank you.” 

Then I crouch in front of Rosie myself and hold out my hands. She meets me where I am and takes them. 

“You really do look beautiful,” I tell her, and she practically twinkles at me. I can almost catch a glimpse of what’s got Simon gobsmacked. She’s only seven now, but in years to come, she’ll be older, and someday, he will walk her down the aisle. Even though she’s still young, she’s growing up and Simon’s watching it happen right in front of his eyes. 

The two girls step out of my room; Simon collapses on my sofa and hunches over, running his fingers through his curls. I sit next to him and rub his back. 

“I forget how much she’s growing,” Simon groans, leaning into my lap. He’s not crying, but he’s certainly emotionally vulnerable and I love seeing this side of him. He rolls over to where he’s staring up at me and I push the hair out of his eyes. He looks beautiful, and his eyes say everything. He’s open. He’s happy. 

“She’ll always be your little girl,” I say. 

“Yeah, but I saw her and I was just… surprised.”

“She looks beautiful.”

“Very.” 

Simon lingers for a moment longer, then sits up. I stand and walk to my closet. I hung our suits at the front earlier, and I fetch Simon’s first. 

When I first walked into the store, I didn’t know what colour suit to buy for Simon, but I saw a pine green suit that reminded me of our first date. 

So, when I hold it out to him, he raises a brow. 

He’s thankful, taking it from me. And he runs his hands over it, saying, “This feels amazing….”

I pull my own suit out, blood-red. I can tell Simon wants to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he disappears behind my closet door and gets dressed behind it. 

We’re not at dressing in front of each other yet, but we’ll get there. 

I can’t wait. 

Mordelia, Fiona, and my father watch us file into the dining room with incredulity on their faces. I sit between Mordelia and Rosie, and my sister leans in and whispers, “You’re radiating matching couple energy. Way to be subtle.” 

I glare at her and take a dish of food so I can help Rosie with her plate. 

Dinner’s about the same as breakfast, except my siblings don’t quip about my relationship with the Snow-Salisburys. We do make conversation. Aunt Fiona catches up with the younger siblings, Mother asks me how work is. 

One uncomfortable constant throughout dinner is Father’s glances. I can already read his eyes. He wants to talk after dinner. He looks at Simon, too, but I think Simon’s too busy talking to Fiona for him to notice. 

(Their blossoming acquaintanceship baffles me; I would’ve never thought Simon would want to even look in her direction.) 

My father finally catches me when we’re just through with dinner. He pulls me into his study and closes the door before I can make it upstairs with Simon and Rosie.

“Sit down. Would you like anything to drink?” He crosses over to his liquor trolley, and his cool demeanour only racks up my nerves. 

He’s talking  _ to _ me rather than  _ down _ to me—that’s what it seems like, at least. But I have the feeling this won’t be a pleasant conversation. 

“No, thank you. What is this about?” I take a seat in an armchair, and once he has his glass, he sits across from me. His stare is damning. 

“Who is Snow to you, Basilton?”

Surely, he knows. “I’m seeing him, father. I don’t think you quite approve, though, do you?” 

Instead of answering, he nods stoically. I think he may enjoy making me squeamish like this, and the longer I’m in the room with him, the more I want to walk out of those study doors. 

“It surprises me.” He rolls his wrist and watches as the alcohol swirls with him. “Considering the fact that his father killed your mother, I didn’t think that you would want to fraternise with him.”

My stomach sinks. What is he… what is Father talking about? I stand, and he casts a gaze upon me. He’s got me. “What—his father? The Mage killed Mum.”

“You’re smart, Basilton. Put two and two together.” 

I can’t—something in the hall crashes. I poke my head out of the study; something’s knocked down a decorative pedestal by the study doors. 

I barely catch it, but bronze and pine green streak up the stairs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH SHIT
> 
> Well... hahahahaha.
> 
> Where do we go from here?
> 
> Also, did y'all notice anything different at the top of the screen? Like, in the story information? There's something new....
> 
> QotC: How do you think Simon's gonna react? What about Baz? Do you think this will hurt their relationship? 
> 
> Anyway, I'll see you soon and still think about Mordelia... Y'all have good guesses, but no one's been right yet.


	33. Chapter 33

**Simon**

It’s not something I’ve avoided telling him—it’s not something  _ I _ ever think about. In my head, the Mage—my  _ father— _ has been locked away behind the bars he’d be behind if I hadn’t killed him. And I did. I killed my father. 

My therapist reminds me it was out of self-defence. It was in an instant that I would’ve been dead if I didn’t do it. I didn’t know he was my father then, either, but then Agatha showed me a picture… the picture I keep of my mum. The Mage’s face is stickered over… but my mum. 

My parentage became a thing in the World of Mages—a spectacle. _Simon Snow’s father was there all along, and the boy didn’t know!_ _The Mage killed his child’s mother! Watch his life fall apart!_

That time of my life was humiliating; it was when Agatha forced me to disconnect from the World of Mages. At least for a little bit. 

I can’t help but think about it, though. I was left in care home after care home when I could’ve been at Watford. My mother was killed at the hands of this monster. Where would I be now if she wasn’t? And when I found his papers….

I was just a failed experiment in the end. 

Now that I’m forced to think about it, now that I’m in Baz’s room, awaiting the plight of his anger, confusion, and distrust, it makes me realise that he probably never knew about the Mage being my father. His reaction told me that much.

Baz told me that since he left for Oxford, he really had no contact with the World of Mages. There are bits and pieces, but overall, he didn’t know much. 

At that time, he tried to focus on other things. The World was the last of his worries. 

I didn’t think about it. That chapter has ended. But the way he sounded like he didn’t expect his father to say that….

Baz sounded wounded. He sounded lost. 

He sounds lost now as he says, “Simon?” 

I hear his bedroom door open, but I don’t will myself to be a contortionist to look at him. 

To see the disgust in his face.

The flames in his hands. 

I don’t have the energy, but I should just pack up now. 

“Is Rosie in here?”

I don’t move. I can’t. 

“She’s with Mordelia, but I should… I should go get her. We… uh… Rosie and I should go.” 

“Simon.” The pain in his voice nearly knocks me over. I grip onto the bedsheets and squeeze my eyes shut. Why am I crying? “Why do you—we  _ need _ to talk about this.” 

I finally face him, and I’m standing, and it’s hard to look at him because I’m afraid. What does he think of me?

How could he stand to see me right now when he knows my father killed his mother? 

_ How? _

“What is there to talk about?” Finally, I look at him. He’s drowning. It kills me to see him in pain. “I’m sorry. I just… you heard it from your father. The Mage killed your mum.”

“Simon…” He starts to walk closer, and I stand my ground. Punch me, hit me, kill me. 

I’ll take it. 

“So Rosie and I should go. I wished that… I’m sorry that I ruined your Christmas.” My fists ball at my sides—my nails cut crescents into my skin. “I don’t think you’d want to be with the son of your mother’s killer.” 

The fire that’s gone out in Baz ignites once more. If there’s one thing he’s certain of when it comes to our interactions, it’s our fighting. He sees this as a challenge, but I wish he would just think about it. 

How do we make sense?

“Don’t tell me what I want and what I don’t want!” he finally yells, and it feels so wrong. 

Everything feels so wrong. 

_ I _ feel so wrong! In this suit, across from him, when he looks like he does. When he’s aged like he has. 

“No one wants me, Baz. I’m forced onto everyone. It… it doesn’t make sense that you want me.”

I’m too tired to fight. 

So when he charges towards me, I brace myself and close my eyes. 

I don’t expect what comes next.

  
  


**Baz**

When I followed him up these stairs, I already knew what was going through his head. I already knew—Simon’s so convinced that he can’t be loved. He’s talking like this new information will make me hate him now, and I don’t understand. I don’t understand him. 

I can’t understand what he’s saying, what he’s thinking. Sometimes I wished that we could go back to those days where we could fight because it made sense, then. But now, now he’s going on about being meaningless. 

But he’s everything. To Rosie. To me. To Bunce. 

He’s telling me what to do. He’s telling me what to say. 

He’s making assumptions. 

How do I make him see?

My body seems to know more than I do, because I make my way for him and as soon as he’s close enough, I pull him in. I seek him out. I feel the way his back dips in my hands when his body is pressed to mine. 

“Don’t tell me how to feel, especially when you can’t comprehend that you are my everything.”

  
  


**Simon**

I’m loose in his grip. Putty in his hands. The look he gives me, the deep emotional pull I feel towards him. I know he means it, I swear to Merlin I do. But that voice… the insecurities—

They all melt away when his lips meet mine. 

  
  


**Baz**

I didn’t expect it at first, even though  _ I _ am kissing  _ him _ . But when I melt into him, when he tilts his chin just slightly to give me more access, I realise. 

This is the epitome of my life. I’m drowning in Snow. 

But I’ve waited for this since the moment we met. I’ve waited for this feeling of how his body works against mine, how he feels under my palms. 

It’s a reward for him to shutter under my grasp and come up for air, but he falls back into me. He wants more of my lips. This kiss. 

He wants more of us. And I’ll give that to him. I’ll give that to him for as long as he lives. 

_ Don’t give up on me _ .  _ I’ll never give up on you _ .

My hands find their way to his cheeks, and I draw him closer. 

Does he know now? Does he know I would never take the piss when it comes to my love for him? Does he know just how deep it is, and that I’ve thought of thousands of ways to prove it to him?

I started today. I started with this kiss. 

And every day until he dies, I will show him. 

I will show him that this love, that the feeling he brings me, will never cease. Not as long as I roam this earth. 

I wipe away his tears with the pads of my thumbs, and he pulls me closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer. 

I get my fill of him for the first time like it’s the last. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT WE'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!!
> 
> Honestly, it kind of came to me as a surprise that people didn't know Simon knew because I left some implications like the stickered over mage but, oh well. More of a surprise to you XD
> 
> QotC: Where do you think Simon and Baz will go from here? 
> 
> Have a great day and there will be a lot more kissing I promise you that


	34. Chapter 34

**Simon**

Baz is making me calm down before we talk any further. He’s given me some pyjamas to put on, and he’s found some scones, butter, and milk.

“Mordelia’s reading a book to Rosie,” Baz says as he walks back in again. I think it’s the last time because he closes the door and locks it behind him. He takes a seat next to me and snags a scone for himself. 

I still can’t make sense of him, or why he would want me, or this, when my father did what he did. But he made it clear. Loud and clear. 

Baz loves me, he’s loved me for as long as he’s known me, and that literally nothing can change that. 

He would cross every line for me. 

Yet, I can’t help but ask. “Why?” 

Where I fall short, Baz meets me there. 

He’s calmed down more than I have, and even though I’m settled now, my mind’s still reeling. It doesn’t help when he brushes some hair out of my eyes, but I take it. I lean into his touch and onto his shoulder. 

“We aren’t our parents, Simon. We can’t let their legacies affect ours.” 

I sink deeper into him. I don’t even need the scones anymore. I need his affirmations. His touch.

I need the familiarity he’s created for me. His love. And he's pushing it into me. 

“I’m just so scared,” I admit, and Baz kisses my temple. 

“Do you still want the food?”

The tray’s magicked away as soon as I shake my head. 

He lays us down so we’re staring up at the draped red fabric of Baz’s canopy. I’m tucked under his arm, and he keeps kissing my head. He keeps me here. With him. Right now. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It never crossed my mind and—”

“Shh.” He kisses my head and nuzzles his face into my curls. “It’s not your fault. My father doesn’t understand my feelings for you. He thought it was sabotage.” 

  
  


**Baz**

I knew from the moment Father said it that he was trying to plant a seed in my mind. He made it clear. Simon is not welcome in his presence. And if that’s the case, my father isn’t welcome in mine or Simon's, either. 

So, it would only make sense that we leave. All of Rosie’s presents are in my cupboard, and instead of unloading them under the tree, we need to pack them back up in the boot. I haven’t asked if Simon’s wanted to yet. I haven’t asked because I want this moment with him. Moving means going forward, and even though Simon’s vulnerable, I want to dither in the softness.

I roll on my side, but don’t find it entirely appropriate to roll on top of him. Instead, I cup his face and stroke his cheek with my thumb. His gaze tells me he’s still open, but he’s not as panicked. This is where I want him. 

“Can I kiss you?” I ask him now, because I don’t want to force myself onto him. My thumb runs along his bottom lip and he watches it, cross-eyed. I almost chuckle. 

“Don’t ever ask me that question again,” he says, but rolls over and envelopes me with kisses. 

I smile against him. 

When he decides to pull away, he remains hovering above me, the good luck talisman I gave him slipping from under his collar and above my face. He looks beautiful, and I run my fingers through his hair. “Are you feeling better?”

The small smile that’s worked its way onto Simon’s face fades, but he nods. “A little. Not completely.”

“Someday you’ll be able to understand.” I push a few strands out of his eyes, but they fall back in my face. “Will you stay with me?” 

Simon says nothing, but he holds his pinky out. “I don’t make pinky swears unless I mean them.” 

I latch my pinky with his and pull him down for another kiss. 

After a while, Simon sits back up. It’s late, but we should get going—for my comfort and his, I  _ really _ think we should. But before I can ask the question, Simon whirls around to face me. He’s got that inquisitive look on his face that he has when he’s about to ask a question, so I sit up myself and cock my head. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“You really never knew that the Mage was my father… I mean, I could tell by how you sounded, but it was such a moment in the World of Mages. I thought that maybe… maybe you would’ve known.” 

For his comfort, I scoot up closer to him and rest my hand on his lower back. “I never thought about it… no one ever told me. I did figure that your father was the person you stickered out. I assumed he must’ve done something that made you do that but I never thought it would be… I always wondered about your mum because—”

Simon takes in a sharp inhale of breath and I remove my hand from his back. 

“Do you know what he did to my mum?” 

My hand sinks into my mattress, and I watch him. I watch how painfully still he is. I see how he hunches over, and my hand finds its way to his back and I rub soothing circles into it. “Only tell me if you want to.” 

“I found out that he was my father from that photo. Agatha showed it to me, and something clicked. It just… made sense. Agatha’s parents helped me put everything together. Her father did the paternity and maternity tests, everything clocked out, and I was handed the papers the Mage wrote once the Coven gave the ‘OK.’ 

“Penny helped me look through them, and we discovered that  _ I _ was an experiment and she died days after she had me. He had no remorse. It was his spell. It was his magic. And when she died… I don’t even think he was upset. He wrote it like she was a sacrifice  _ he _ was mercilessly willing to make. And—”

“Hey.” I place my hand on his knee and he looks up at me. He’s slipping again, and I don’t want him to deteriorate on Christmas Eve. “Is this good for you? I get it. I just don’t want you to… well.” 

Simon sits up straight, eyes closed, and swivels from side to side to pop his back. I think he’s done, and I know for certain he is when he says, “I’ll text my therapist tomorrow.” 

“Okay….” 

Good. 

Even though we’re finished talking about it, I’m glad he opened himself up to me. I’m glad he let me know, and as I stare at him now, I see how… similar we are. In some aspects, at least. Both of our mothers were killed by the same man, and he just happens to be Simon’s father.

But we are not our parents. I mean that when I say it. 

“We can go home if you want,” I say after a few moments of silence. After a few minutes of Simon zoning out and my hand making itself busy by rubbing his knee. “Would you like to? We can make our own dinner and Rosie can open up her gifts under the tree we got… we can set up Shadow’s space so Rosie can wake up to see her? And so Shadow could get used to her new home.” 

Simon stares at me like I’ve grown a third head. “But, Baz. Your family….”

“I don’t want to spend it here if the environment’s hostile for you.” I stand and walk towards the cupboard; Simon doesn’t try to stop me when I start pulling out Rosie’s Christmas presents from the back. 

“You can stay—”

I turn around and glare at him. “I’m spending Christmas with you.” 

He doesn’t try to argue with me, he doesn’t try to question what I said. Rather, he grabs a few presents himself, simpers at me, and makes his way out of the room. 

After loading the last of the presents into the boot, we walk into the foyer, finding Mordelia standing there with her arms crossed over her chest. She looks confused and a little sad. I don’t know how long she’s been there, but it’s been long enough for her to figure out that we’re not staying.

“What are you doing?” she asks like she doesn’t know what’s going on; she wants to hear it from me. 

“We’re leaving.” And since she’s my sister, I owe her a reason. “Father has made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want Simon around, so I’m going with him.” 

Mordelia goes from saddened to vexed, but before she can raise hell, I grab her by the arm and make sure she looks me in the eye before I say anything else. “You know you’re welcome over whenever. Visit me before the New Year. Rosie’ll be with me and we can stop by Simon’s bakery and spend the day together. Okay?” 

She glowers at me for a moment, her emotions unwieldy in her gaze. I know she’s not mad at me—she understands why I have to go. But she ends up attacking me in a hug, and I pull her further into my chest. 

My siblings shouldn’t suffer because Father’s an arsehole. I should’ve left this open invitation years ago. 

“I love you, Basilton,” she sighs, pulling her head from my chest. She’s weepy-eyed, but not crying. “Want me to get Rosie? She’s asleep.”

I smile at her, and I kiss her head when she rests it back on my chest. Hopefully, she’ll take my invitation; I don’t know why she wouldn’t. 

“Where is she? We still need to get Shadow.”

“You named the cat Shadow?” Mordelia snarks, but is smiling nonetheless. She unravels herself from my arms and starts to make her way up a couple of stair steps. “I can get Shadow, then. Rosie’s in the library with Mum.”

“All right. Thank you.” And before she can disappear up the stairs, I say, “I love you too.” 

She hears it, smiles, and disappears. 

Simon and I find the Rosie and Mother in the library, sitting in front of a dimming fire. Like Mordelia had said, Rosie’s asleep and her head is in Mother’s lap. She’s disassembling the plait in the child’s hair and places the hairgrips on a side table. She’s singing to Rosie, too, but we can only hear it when we come to a stop. 

I wish we could stay here, and when I see that Simon’s smiling at the sight, I’m sure he wishes the same. 

But my father… I’m not going to let him get away with being an arse. 

“I don’t want to break that up,” Simon whispers, placing his chin on my shoulders. His arms are wrapped around me, and I embrace his warmth. I don’t want to break this up, us up like this—all entangled in each other—either, but we need to get going. It’s rather late. 

“Would you be fine with her coming over and visiting sometimes?” 

“Yeah….” Simon presses a kiss to the side of my head and pulls away before walking over to them. Mother looks up as soon as she notices him and pats the seat next to her. He sits, and I decide it’s my time to show myself. I walk over, too, and Mother smiles. 

“Rosie’s lovely, Simon,” Mother says. She removes the last hairgrip and shuffles her fingers through Rosie’s curls. They fall onto her lap, and she begins to make work of brushing them out. “Sweet girl. Powerful. Who taught her how to put glitter in her hair?”

I raise my hand, and Mother smiles. I hate to have to take that away from her… but we can’t stay. 

“Thank you,” Simon says, staring at the sleeping girl. But he says nothing more. 

I guess I’ll have to tell Mother….

“We have to go.” 

Confusion paints itself all over her face. Though she hands Rosie over to Simon, she still asks, “Why? I thought you were staying.”

“Father,” I tell her. 

She turns stoic. Then, icy. But she says nothing of it and stands to hug me. 

“Please visit,” I say, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “And bring the others.” 

“I will,” she sighs, and she pushes me down by the shoulders so she can give me a kiss herself. “Let me know when you get there—and Simon?” 

I turn to him and he’s standing now, Rosie in his arms like he’s holding a baby. (Which, he is. Kind of.)

“Yes, Ma’am?” 

“Call me Daphne.” She meets him and since he’s not as tall, she stands on the tips of her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek, then kisses Rosie’s forehead. 

“Yes, Daphne?” 

Mother pats his cheek and allows her hand to linger there. “Don’t let Malcolm make you feel bad. You  _ are _ a part of this family, now, and he’ll have to get over himself.” 

Simon’s worry dissolves into a smile. “Thank you… thank you for having us. And please do come over.” 

+++

Simon’s asleep when we get home. I think he fell asleep a few minutes into the drive. His grip loosened on my hand and now that I look at him, he’s all loose. His mouth hangs open, and if this were any other circumstance, I would take a picture of him. 

I can’t find myself able to. He’s dealing with a lot right now.

So, I carry Rosie in first and place her in her father’s bed. He needs her right now, and she’ll start sleeping in her own room soon enough. 

Then, I get Simon. He wakes up in my arms just as I’m passing through the living room and stares at me through sleep-filled eyes like I’m insane, but he doesn’t question me and settles in my arms until I place him on the bed. 

The stubborn man tries to sit up, but I hold him down by the shoulder. “I’ve got it. Sleep.” 

Simon’s too tired to fight. He nods instead and takes my hand. “I’m going to wake up early.” 

“Okay. Wake me up, too?”

He nods, kisses my knuckles, and rolls over onto his side. 

Rosie burrows into him, and he runs his fingers through her hair. 

Just before I can leave the room, Rosie shoots up, half asleep and mumbles something incoherent. 

(I don’t think she quite knows where she is because she doesn’t sound confused as to why we’re back home.)

“Can you say that again?” I ask her, coming in a bit closer so I can hear her better. 

She’s already losing her second wind; her eyes weigh shut, but she says, “Mince pie… for Father Christmas….”

Rosie’s dead to the world again in a matter of seconds, and Simon’s trying not to laugh out loud, but I see him trembling with amusement.

The rest of my night is spent putting things back together. The presents go under the tree. I set up all of the new kitchenware I got for Simon. The litter box goes in the spare bedroom. And the cat….

Shadow’s asleep on my chest as I try to get some shut-eye myself. 

Things could have gone so much worse, and though  _ I’m _ usually the pessimist, there might be some good from spending Christmas together. Just the three—now four—of us in the comfort of this house. 

I’ve felt more at home here than I ever did at the manor. 

We should’ve stayed here all along. 

I fall asleep thinking of tomorrow and hoping to Merlin that Simon will have a good Christmas. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. It is what it is. 
> 
> Did it surprise you that Simon knew? I know I talked about it last chapter but a lot of people didn't realize that Simon knew the mage was his dad and that surprised me, but also most of y'all didn't read it in one sitting, so. 
> 
> QotC: I'm curious—what's your favorite quote from this story? There are a few I like and one of them is in this chapter: “We aren’t our parents, Simon. We can’t let their legacies affect ours.” 
> 
> Have an amazing day! And make sure to drink plenty of fluids if you're gonna watch Hamilton tomorrow bc you're probably gonna cry!


	35. Chapter 35

**Baz**

Morning comes and it’s between Simon’s arms. I wake up to the weight of him leaning down with his lips puckered, and when he notices my eyes are open, he pulls away. 

“Were we about to have a Snow White moment, Snow?” I toss him a playful look of disdain as he continues to hover over me. 

He’s trying to put his thoughts together, I can see those wheels turning, but he sits up a pouting mess. “I was going to kiss your forehead, for your information. And then I was going to wake you up. You ruined the moment.”

“Hey.” I sit up and nudge his back with my knee so he’ll look at me and stop pouting. 

This is nice to wake up to—I thought it would be a lot more morose. And not that I’d blame him, but he’s pouting like a child and he knows he’s drawing my attention. It’s playful. And he’s bad at trying to hide that smile that’s peeking around the corners of his frown. 

“Come here,” I breathe, pulling my knees to my chest. I lean forward onto them, then begin to push my foot under his arse, wiggling my toes just to further his reaction. 

And I get one. 

“Get your nasty feet off of me, Basilton!” he laughs, and when he leans forward to push me off, I catch him by the collar and pull him in for a kiss. 

(And he’s brushed his teeth, the brandy bloke.) 

I allow myself to take him in, even if the kiss isn’t long-winded. It only lasts a few seconds, but he gives me that soft look that’s reserved for when he’s completely enamoured by me. 

I get it a lot, but it still messes with my insides in ways that make me feel amazing. 

“Happy Christmas,” I say to him, pressing our foreheads together. I lean in just a bit to kiss the tip of his nose and he takes it with a smile. 

I want to say things like, “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” and “How are you feeling today?” but when he’s not reminded of things, he doesn’t think about them for the most part. He likes to compartmentalise and save it for later. 

And if he wants to talk about it, he will. But he’s not. Instead, he’s glowing at me—yes,  _ at _ me, and he’s beautiful. 

“Happy Christmas,” he says back.

I lean against the arm of the couch, and much like a lapdog, Simon climbs onto me. I take him in my arms. 

“What time is it?” I ask as he’s adjusting.

Simon gets comfortable before he answers. He squirms a bit in my grasp, but when he lays his head on my chest, I know that he’s picked the right spot. He closes his eyes, and I ruffle my fingers through his hair. 

“S’five.” 

Wait. 

“Five a.m.?”

He nods against my chest. Before I can get up in arms about him waking me up so early on Christmas, he mutters, “I wanted to get up early so we could cuddle before Rosie woke up.” 

I settle and tilt my head back so I can relax. I ask, “What if she sees us?”

Simon shakes his head. “She wakes up at six o’three on the dot on Christmas morning.”

“What?” 

“Trust me. I have an alarm to wake us up, so get comfortable.” 

I decide not to fight him on this. Simon knows his daughter better than I do, and if he insists she wakes up at six o’three, I won’t question him. 

And I will  _ always _ take cuddles from Simon. With him laying on top of me like this, it’s like sleeping with a weighted blanket, but warmer. 

After some adjusting on the couch, I have my head back on a pillow and Simon—who is already asleep again—nestles his face in my neck. I drift back to sleep while my hand runs up and down the dip in his back. 

His alarm goes off too soon, but the sound of it has him shooting up. He almost knees me in the bollocks, but manages to miss by a few centimetres. He does nail me in the upper thigh and I hiss. 

“Don’t be so hasty,” I breathe, rubbing my inner thigh. He turns back towards me and gives me a sorry glance before tearing back into his bedroom. 

“What was that?” I whisper. He’s woken me up abruptly, left me confused and half asleep, and now I’m cold, too. 

Simon comes back into the room, glancing down at his phone to check the time I assume. And then he pulls a bag out from behind him and holds it out to me. 

For a moment, I almost can’t take it from him. I stare at the bag like it’s something far too… precious to be in my hands. I know I bought gifts for him—I knew that he would most likely get me a gift, too. Even if it was small. But anything, Merlin, even a cocktail stick, from Simon would be a lovely gift. 

But what he’s got me is in a bag, and has a bow on the side. 

After a brief moment of deliberation, I take the bag from him and he sits by my side. 

“I know it’s not much—”

“It’s enough.” My hand finds his knee and my eyes meet his. “Whatever it is is enough.”

Pulling the tissue paper from the bag reveals an apron. 

A matching apron. 

I pull it out from the bag and see how it coordinates with the colours of their aprons, and my name is scrawled across the chest in calligraphy like theirs are. 

What I feel inside me cannot be put into words, and I can’t find any when I take another look at Simon. 

Again, he’s glowing, and beautiful, and instead of saying anything to him, I pull him in for a kiss. 

It’s short, it’s sweet, and it does the job because now he’s grinning, too. 

“I guess this is my way of initiating you into the family,” Simon chuckles, and it makes my head buzz. I could get high off of his happiness, really. I’m so in love with him. 

I would reply with something sappy if I could, but… he already knows he’s a part of mine. Him and Rosie. And though my father is an exception, the rest take him in with open arms. 

But when it’s vice versa, when it’s Simon bringing me into his, that means that I’m in their circle, and that feels so much more sacred. Me. Simon. Rosie. And Shadow, too, I guess. It takes a lot to be able to find yourself in this place: becoming a step-parent means you’re worthy. 

Is this how Daphne felt when Father proposed?

I’m pulled from my reverie when Simon pushes himself away from me, and that’s when I notice Rosie stumbling into the living room, quite confused. 

“Hey… where’s everyone? Why are we home?” I can’t quite tell if she’s upset; I don’t think she is. But she stumbles up to me and stands between my legs and looks me over like she’s making sure I’m real before she collapses into my arms. 

Just to get a gauge of things, I glance at Simon. He mouths, “She’s fine.”

But he does scoot over a little and says, “We had to come back because we forgot to tell Father Christmas we would be over there. Look at the tree, Princess.”

Rosie doesn’t want to move at first. She’s still sleepy, and she’s rubbing her eyes. But as soon as she digests Simon’s words, the energy hits her and her head snaps up. (She almost headbutts my jaw.)

“Did Father Christmas eat the mince pie?”

Panic rips through me, and when I catch a glimpse of Simon, he’s already on his way to the kitchen. 

I guess I need to distract her.

So, when she tries to turn to the kitchen, I gasp and point to Shadow, who’s found comfort in laying in one of the armchairs by the window. “Look at what Father Christmas brought!”

This immediately grabs Rosie’s attention; she runs over excitedly towards the sleeping cat and I follow closely behind. I glance over my shoulder to find Simon hastily pulling out milk and biscuits. 

_ We’re not in America _ , I think, but then I remember that there’s no mince pie or sherry in the house, so he’s working with what he’s got. 

“Oh, look at it!” Rosie squeals then I turn back to face her. She’s holding the kitten in her arms and gently stroking her head—have they had a pet before? Rosie’s rather gentle with it for a seven-year-old.

“She’s quite cute,” I respond, and I catch one more quick look of Simon. I think he’s almost done; he’s just chugging the glass of milk he’s poured now. 

“How do you know it’s a girl?” Rosie asks, and before she can begin to search the cat, I sink to my knees and hold my hands out.

Very gingerly, Rosie hands Shadow over. 

“I’m going to do some silent magic that will tell me, okay?” 

Rosie nods sagely. 

I’m not actually doing any magic, but I close my eyes and pretend to, and then I open them again. Rosie stares back at me, mesmerised. 

“Did it work?” she whispers. 

“A girl, and,” I pull the collar tag into Rosie’s line of vision, “she has a name.”

“Rosie! Baz! Father Christmas ate the cookies and left a note!” Simon calls from the kitchen, and Rosie’s eyes widen to the size of saucers. She takes Shadow back from me and hurries to the kitchen. 

I follow behind her and lean against the half wall once I’m in the kitchen. Rosie’s sat at the table, holding Shadow to her chest, and Simon stares over her shoulder, I’m guessing in case she needs help reading. 

“ _ Rosie _ ,” she reads, “ _ I’m sorry that I didn’t know that I would be going to Dr Grimm's house this year. I hope the kitty makes up for that! You have been a very good girl this year and your daddy is ext… ext….  _ Daddy, what does that say?”

“Extremely, Princess.”

Rosie nods and continues, “ _ Extremely proud of you. Happy Christmas! And thank you for something different! I also love milk and biscuits. Love, Father Christmas. _ Daddy! He’s never written me a note before! Can I keep this forever?” She holds up what I now see is a napkin and I have to keep myself from laughing. 

It works, I guess. 

“Yes, you can.” He rubs her shoulders before sinking into a chair next to her. “Father Christmas wrote me a note, too. He said that the kitty’s name is Shadow, but you can change it if you like.”

Simon sends me this look and I roll my eyes. I understand that most seven-year-olds don’t understand irony, but  _ come on _ . 

“Shadow?” Rosie looks at the kitten and giggles. “That’s funny because she’s white.” 

“Isn’t it?” I chime in, and I take the seat on the other side of her. 

Instead of answering right away, Rosie holds Shadow up to her ear, and while the kitten’s now wanting to crawl out of her grip, Rosie’s pretending that she’s listening to what Shadow has to say. When she comes to some “conclusion” she kisses Shadow on the head and sets her down. 

“We talked about it and Shadow thinks it’s funny her name is Shadow, so she wants to keep it.” 

This is a victory for me, but Simon’s subtly sunk his head into his hands.

I can’t wait to tease him about it later. 

“I saw loads of presents under the tree, Rosie. Do you want to go look?” I ask her, and she takes off without saying anything. 

“Shadow the white cat,” Simon mutters. 

“Shadow, the cat that is just a cat at the end of the day.” I stand, and when I’m in his vicinity, I hold my hand out to hoist him up. 

Simon rolls his eyes, but he knows I’m right. We make our way into the living room and take our places on the couch. Rosie’s in front of the tree, ogling all of the presents left under it for her. (And Simon. But I did buy something for Rosie to give Simon, too. A new rolling pin.)

“Can I start opening them?” Rosie asks, eyeing us like she’s desperate to do so. She keeps looking from us to the gifts.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” Simon says once his phone is out so he can take pictures. 

Rosie goes through her gifts, and as I watch, warmth floods me. Simon’s love for her is unmatched, and he beams with each present she opens. She’s  _ so _ thankful for what she gets, and when she receives something from Father Christmas, she looks to the sky and says her thanks towards him, too. 

When she opens the tiara I’ve gotten her, she gives me a toothy grin and has me put it on her head (along with the stardust). She looks like a proper little princess. 

The more gifts she opens, though, the quieter she gets, and when she starts opening them silently, Simon puts his phone away. 

I get in a little closer by sliding onto the floor next to her, but not so close I’m in her space. 

“I think Father Christmas made a mistake,” she says finally, and when she turns towards us, she looks conflicted. “He got me a lot this year.”

“Maybe you’ve been extra good,” I suggest, and though Rosie nods, it doesn’t seem enough. She’s slouching now, too. 

“I thought when I punched Jacob I wouldn’t get any this year….”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Simon says, scooting onto the ground as well. He crawls over so he can sit next to her and she finds her way into his lap. He rocks her back and forth slightly, and I think this comforts her because the severe look on her face begins to ease up. 

I never really thought that Rosie would notice—well, I knew she would. What I mean was I never thought she would say anything, but here she is, making sure that these are her things. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that. Do I feel bad for her? Am I supposed to feel happy that she’s getting all of these presents now? Simon’s moved on and she’s continuing to open her presents, but I’m still a bit conflicted.

Once the presents under the tree have been stacked and sorted (and all of the wrapping paper’s been thrown away in a bin bag), we have one more thing to show Rosie. She’s already winding down, but when Simon and I stand, she looks between us, confused. 

“There’s one more thing we want to show you. This is from us, Princess,” Simon says to her. He crouches down and holds his hand out for her, and when she takes it, he pulls her up. 

She doesn’t say anything and follows us into the hallway and to her room. 

The door is closed, and I wrote “Under Construction” on a piece of paper and sellotaped it on. 

“What does that say, Daddy?” Rosie asks, leaning in to get a closer look. But she keeps leaning in until her forehead touches the door. 

A Rosieism. 

“It says that the room is under construction. Father Christmas talked to me and Baz and he said that he could get most of your things, but he said that he thought that we should get the room for you.” 

Rosie turns to us, and her brows are furrowed and trembling. I think she might cry, but she’s smiling nonetheless. “A-a new room for me?” 

Simon reaches out and strokes her hair. “Just for you. You can design it however you want and we can all go out and pick the furniture. How does that sound?”

Instead of saying anything, her face screws up and she starts bawling, but it’s the overwhelmed, happy kind. 

“Awe, Sweetie,” Simon laughs, sinking down to her level. “Don’t cry.”

“Can I have a hug sandwich?” she cries, so I end up on the ground, too, and pull them into my arms. 

The three of us stay like this for a while, and as I stay here, arms wrapped around them, I know that this is all I need in life. And Merlin, I love them so damn much. 

The two of them deserve the world, and if it was physically possible, I would’ve gotten that for them. 

Instead, I gave them a little corner of theirs. Rosie, the room. Simon, the kitchen. 

And they gave me a bit of theirs. The apron that I can’t wait to use. 

I’m in love with this family, and it’s mine. 

Eventually, Rosie pulls away from us. She’s snot-faced and teary-eyed, but her grin is miles wide. 

“I’m so happy,” she whimpers. 

Simon peppers her in kisses. 

We start to settle after a few minutes, and from there, we get ready for the day. Rosie puts on a dress I got for her (that I thought would look good with the tiara) and settles in the living room with some Disney Christmas shorts and her new markers. Shadow rests in her lap while she’s getting a start on designing her bedroom. 

While Simon takes a shower, I wait with Rosie and from time to time, she shows me the picture and lets me know little things about how she would want a certain shade to really appear, but she doesn’t have the colour for it. (I take the notes on my phone.) And when she’s back to drawing, I’m trying to suppress the nerves working at my stomach. 

Once Simon’s out of the shower, I’m going to show him the kitchen. He didn’t say anything earlier, but I don’t think he really looked around. (And he’s not  _ that _ observant, but….)

Honestly, I was somewhat afraid of removing all of his things. Some people get attached to objects that might need replacing, so just in case, I saved everything. (It’s in my car boot.) 

Also, he may think it’s too much. He’s already given me that,  _ You didn’t have to _ look with each gift he opened from me. What is he going to say about this?

But then, the moment comes. Simon walks in, looking damn amazing in the clothes I got for him. Not to mention, we’re unintentionally matching—his shawl neck sweater is the same maroon in the details of my sweater and trousers.

I think he notices this because he gives me this wide-eyed look I eat up. 

Now that I feel much more confident, I push myself up from the couch and walk over towards him. 

That deer in headlights look becomes all the wilder, and I have to contain myself from giving him a kiss, or wrapping my arms around him, or something else. 

When I’m close enough, he asks, “Should I change?”

I shake my head. “No. You look perfect. But I do want to show you something.”

Simon wordlessly follows me into the kitchen, and when I sit at the table, he does, too. I don’t say anything, and when Simon begins to grow confused, he asks, “Is this about telling Rosie about us?”

“What—oh.” I chuckle. I should’ve figured he would’ve asked about that since we’re isolated. “No. I think she’s too emotionally overwhelmed to deal with that right now.” 

A smile quirks at the corner of Simon’s mouth, and he holds his hand out for me to take. I do. 

“What’s going on then?” 

I smirk. “Look around.” 

And he does. He stands from the chair and begins to wander around like he’s looking for something (which he is), and I can tell he finally notices when his eyes land on the shiny new stand mixer. (The colour coordinates with the kitchen—all of the new appliances do.) 

“Oh… my… what?” Simon breathes, and I watch him as his eyes find the new set of kitchen knives, attachments for the stand mixer….

When he looks at me again, disbelief is written all over his face. 

“Baz….”

I stand from where I am and saunter over to him, and he draws towards me like a magnet. He finds his way into my arms and I pull him close. “You never said anything, but I saw you struggling. It was about time you got some new kitchenware, but if there’s anything you want to keep, all of the old things are in the boot.” 

Simon cups one of my cheeks in his hands and I nuzzle into it. “Thank you… I… thank you.”

I take his hand from where it rests on my cheek and kiss his knuckles. “Happy Christmas.” 

  
  


After breakfast, Rosie goes back to designing her room and Simon orders delivery from the closest supermarket that’s open on Christmas Day. In the meantime, I sit back and watch different Christmas movies and Rosie joins me until Simon proposes that we spend time outside in the snow. 

So, we do. We spend a good few hours out, and we only go in when Rosie decides that she needs to play with Shadow. 

Even in the cool, even in the snow, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so warm because my mind keeps going back. 

It keeps going back to Simon saying that I am a part of the family.

And though I always have been a part of a family—the Grimms, the Pitches, the Mages—it’s different. Simon’s my—unofficial—boyfriend. Rosie’s practically my daughter. 

Only a month ago, I brooded over how lonely I was. I said I couldn’t picture myself sitting on the couch with a child wedged between me and the man I love, but that’s happening right now. 

We’re are watching  _ The Polar Express _ , and Rosie’s between Simon and me, doting on Shadow. 

This is exactly the life I never imagined, but here we are. 

There he is. Simon Snow. The man who has never ceased to conquer my thoughts. 

Maybe we  _ should _ tell Rosie. Before dinner. Before the ham in the oven’s ready. Crowley,  _ right now _ . 

I’m just about to tap Simon on the shoulder, but someone knocks on the door before I can. And then someone bangs.

We all jump a bit, but I know who it is.

“Oi, I know you’re here, Baz!” Fiona yells through the door. 

“Aunt Fi!” Rosie gasps, and she runs to get the door herself, and she grabs Shadow on the way. 

When she opens the door, I’m overjoyed at the sight. Mother, Aunt Fi, and the siblings are here. 

And then I realise. Father isn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank Kris for suggesting that Simon should wear a shawl neck sweater. The image in my head is glorious. 
> 
> Well, here's this sticky sweet shit y'all have been asking for, and there's more where this came from!!! (AKA most of the chapters will be fluffy from here on out. There will be bits and pieces of angst, but nothing heavy.)
> 
> I did have an idea, though. And I'm sharing it with you because MWHAHAHAHAHA but this won't happen bc I don't think Agatha would do this to Simon but what if she was having another baby when she ran away and just never told him??????????
> 
> Like I said, I'm not going to do that but it dawned on me when I was watching Hamilton last night. 
> 
> Also, any of y'all watch it yet? My mom, sister, and I watched it the moment it came out and I cried like a BITCH BABY but yeah.
> 
> OKAY I'M DONE RAMBLING!
> 
> QotC: Do you think there's any significance in Malcolm not showing up??
> 
> Have a good day! See you tomorrow!


	36. Chapter 36

**Simon**

Baz’s family—Fiona, Daphne, and the siblings—file into my little home and though the house is small, they all seem to fit.

Well,  _ fit in _ . Even though most of the family is used to a manor almost as big as Watford itself. The younger siblings make themselves comfortable on my sofa rather quickly, and Rosie’s showing off Shadow to Mordelia and Fiona. (It’s funny to see how bad Mordelia is at pretending that she didn’t know about it, but it’s going over Rosie’s head at least.)

Baz is talking to Daphne, over by the kitchen and I’m left alone by the door. 

I peer outside, just in case there’s a chance that Malcolm is here, but I’m clapped rather roughly on the back. 

“We left the bloke at his sorry manor,” Fiona tells me. 

Wait, really?

The  _ entire _ family came to my home, just because Malcolm tried to put a dent in Baz and my’s relationship? 

I don’t feel any sort of way about him not being here, but I wonder… is Baz all right? 

I can ask him later. 

But the fact that Baz’s family cares so much about such a new addition to Baz’s life (well, in this way)....

I turn to Fiona and quirk a brow. 

She smirks, and Merlin, it must be a Pitch thing because it looks just like Baz’s. “Mind helping me with unloading the boot? There are loads of gifts for you lot.” 

So, I help Fiona and she’s not joking when she says there’s a lot. She had to put down the back seat to make more room and the sight is overwhelming. I’m sure most of it is for Baz, but….

Wow. 

We have to take a few trips to bring everything in, and once we do, the tree looks just as loaded as it had been earlier. It’s as if we haven’t opened presents at all. 

Rosie’s still distracted by showing Mordelia the house, so she has yet to take notice of even more presents. I use it as an opportunity to slip into the kitchen where I’ve last seen Daphne and Baz. 

“Oh, there you are,” Daphne says upon my arrival, and she takes me into an unexpected hug. 

Baz doesn’t look surprised, but I think she can sense that I am; she begins to pull away, but I amend my shock by pulling her in. 

After a brief embrace, she pulls away from my grasp and smiles. “I was just telling Basilton how lovely your house is.” 

Again, I’m surprised by this. The house needs a proper fix-up, but I guess she likes how cosy it is. 

(Compared to the darkness of the manor, this is probably a breath of relief.) 

“Thank you,” I finally say. “It needs a little work, but that’s something I’ll start tackling between workdays—by the way, I’m glad you came.”

“How did you find us, anyway?” Baz asks. He gets comfortable by sitting on the edge of the table, a coffee mug nestled between his palms. 

“I can find anyone if I have the right tools,” Fiona says, walking into the kitchen. She leans against the half wall where Baz usually does and gives us a smile made of trouble. 

“I suggested just texting Baz,” Daphne says quietly.

“And I thought,” Fiona replies with a hint of defence, “it would be fun to surprise them.”

From what Baz has told me, Daphne and Fiona  _ do _ get along, but while Daphne’s a bit more modest, Fiona’s brute force. So, sometimes they disagree. Like right now. 

“Scared us half to death with that knock. Near made me think Father Christmas  _ is  _ real for a second” Baz says, and he walks over to the stove. “Anyone want tea or coffee?”

Fiona and I agree to coffee. Baz starts a kettle for Daphne. 

“Either way, I’m glad that you’re here now,” I say. “Are you staying for dinner? We only have a small ham in the oven, but—”

“I know a spell that can extend a meal,” Daphne offers with a smile. 

Crowley, Baz’s family is lovely. (Far lovelier than what the Mage convinced me of; he made it seem like they were constantly dangerous. But that was also years ago.) 

“Daddy,” Rosie gasps and she runs into the kitchen. She runs past me and nearly into the table, but she stops herself and leans over as she dramatically catches her breath. Her tiara falls off in the process and I bend down to pick it up from the floor. 

“Something the matter?” I ask, handing back her tiara. She’s about to say something, but she looks past my shoulder and squeals, hiding in front of me. 

I turn to find Mordelia standing there with a mischievous look on her face. 

“She’s tickling me!” Rosie giggles, and as Mordelia draws closer, Rosie’s giggle turns into a squeal. 

Baz’s family is  _ lovely _ . 

I swoop Rosie up into my arms and Mordelia’s act fades, but she’s still smiling nonetheless and points her finger at Rosie. “I  _ will _ get you someday!”

Rosie giggles and buries her face in my neck.

“Is this a good time to open some more presents?” Fiona asks now that Rosie’s in the room, and when she says this, Rosie gives me a look of disbelief. 

“ _ More? _ ” she gasps, and instead of waiting, she squiggles out of my arms and makes her way to the living room. 

“OH MY GOODNESS!”

The Grimm-Pitch family funnels their way into the living room, and when Baz and I are the last two in the kitchen, I take his hand and simper. “Are you okay?”

Baz sighs while rolling his eyes, but he nods nonetheless. “Gives me a new perspective on Father, but I’m glad  _ they’re _ here. And that they wanted to spend Christmas with you.”

He gives me a kiss on the head and walks into the living room. 

I’m frozen to the spot for a moment, a blushing mess. 

Surprisingly, most of the gifts are for Rosie. They’re outfits and toys, and things she can use for art. Baz must’ve told them what Rosie liked. 

Fiona’s gift was extra special, though: several leotards, new  _ expensive _ ballet slippers, and a professional-grade tutu. Rosie had another mini happy-breakdown, and Fiona held her for a few minutes. 

(I’ll have to admit that it’s weird seeing Fiona like this, but now that I know her a bit more she’s so much cooler.) 

Of course, the family got me some things, too. Clothes, things for the house. Baz forgot about a present he wanted to give me and pulled out some lightbulbs. (The light in my room is  _ still _ burnt out, but we can change it later.) 

While Baz is opening his gifts—nothing out of the ordinary: overpriced clothes, classroom supplies—someone knocks at the door. 

Baz is in the middle of opening something, and he turns to the door with a raised brow. None of us know who it could be, or who we could expect it to be, so I get up to grab the door.

To my surprise, I open it to find Malcolm Grimm standing there with a few things hanging from his arm. He doesn’t look at me, but he says, “Am I too late?”

I turn back to Baz, who sits there with his jaw clenched. I don’t want to invite him in if he’s going to make us all tense, but before Baz can come over to either tell him to sod off or give him a piece of his mind, Malcolm says, “I’ve come to apologise to you, Mr Snow. Can I put these things down? We should talk.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I’m so shocked that I step aside to let him in without another thought. 

Everyone’s watching now, except Rosie and Magnus, who are playing with Shadow. And they watch as Mr Grimm and I slip outside. I close the door behind me, and he finally looks me in the eye. 

“Daphne and Fiona had a few choice words for me today and allowed me to linger on them when they came over here,” he says, pulling out a cigar. He lights it using a spell under his breath and takes a big inhale of the sweet-smelling smoke. “At first, I couldn’t understand why. All of my life, I knew you as a mini-Mage. A carbon copy. You look a lot like him. I’ve always suspected, and….”

He exhales, and I feel my insides squirm. I’ve never had a talk alone with this man before, and though he’s Baz’s father, I have a hard time associating the two. Baz looks so much like his mother—he never talks about his father. 

“You see,” he continues, “I have had this bias for a long time. And a lot of this family has. I still don’t agree with Basilton’s politics most of the time, but when being screamed at by my wife and sister-in-law, they made me recognise one thing. I cannot stand between him and his happiness, because he  _ will _ bulldoze over me in the process. I understand this now and apologise for trying to ruin that for you and Basilton.” 

Again, he inhales the smoke and puffs it out. “I might not agree with you, or your father”—I cringe—“but I do have to admit that he has strong feelings for you and your daughter. The entire family does… so….”

Malcolm bends down and smothers the cigar on the ground before pulling something out from his pocket. It looks much like the jewellery box Baz gave me my necklace in, and when he opens it, I’m faced with an emerald pendant. 

“I gave this to Natasha the day before our wedding. Emeralds are supposed to support good communication and strong relationships. I do want Basilton to be happy, and if you are who makes him happy, I want you to have this to give to him when the time is right.”

I’m so surprised I have no words. The emerald glints back at me with good intentions. 

“Several blessings have been placed upon that stone; feel free to refurbish it in any way you want, but it’s important that it comes from you.” 

Malcolm takes the box, closes it, and places it back in my hands. “Don’t allow him to see it until you are ready for him to. And take care of my son.” 

The conversation ends and Malcolm walks back into the house. I’m left out here, alone, with this gem in my hand. 

It’s priceless. 

I never expected to get Malcolm Grimm’s blessing, but here I am, stunned. 

I’m officially a part of the Grimm-Pitch family, and it’s both the most exhilarating and terrifying things I’ve ever realised. 

But Merlin, I’m so happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are.
> 
> The family now accepts Simon and Rosie. 
> 
> QotC: What questions do you have for me?
> 
> (That's the lamest question ever I'm sorry.)
> 
> I'm sorry there's not much I have to say today :/ 
> 
> See you tomorrow!


	37. Chapter 37

**Baz**

After Father and Simon came back in, things seemed to go back to what I consider normal. That meant he remained aloof in most of the time he stayed. However, I think Rosie may have broken him in. When he gave her a necklace, she hugged him and I swear that he smiled, just a little bit. 

He was the first one to leave, and then Mother and the younger siblings. Fiona and Mordelia were the last ones to leave, and it was only once they were finished play-terrorising Rosie because she fell asleep on the sofa.

The rest of the night, Simon and I spent time talking, holding hands, drinking mulled wine. 

Honestly, it was the best Christmas I’ve ever had. And I can’t wait for the years to come. 

I spent the rest of the week with the two of them, and though we didn’t do too much, we—well, Simon and I—got some housework done. It’s something that will have to be ongoing, taking account of Rosie’s room and the want to revive the garden come spring, but we started with the little things. 

Like changing Simon’s bedroom light, and rearranging. To make his room homier, I brought some decor from my flat to spruce it up. His room looks a lot more like a room now rather than a cave, and it’s so much cleaner. (We’ll see how long that lasts.) 

We’ve also dusted the entire living room, installed a little cubby for Rosie’s things by the front door, and cleaned out Simon’s fridge. 

All of this busy work has kept us from being too hands-on, and since we haven’t told Rosie yet, that’s a good thing. Because when we weren’t busy, Simon would tuck himself into me. Or if he wanted to leave his wings out, he would wrap one around me and allow his tail to ravel around my ankle. 

It’s our last day together before Simon has to go back to work, and last night, we decided that we wanted to tell Rosie before then. But we’re also getting her furniture today. 

So, that raised the question: before or after going out to buy her things? 

“Rosie’s already going to be energetic about going out and getting her things,” Simon said. Rosie was asleep and our legs were all tangled up as we sat across from each other on the couch. We each had a cuppa in our hands, and we were winding down for the night. (After a good snog-fest. It was glorious.) “Have you seen her hyper before?” 

“I have,” I told him and thought back to the holiday decoration party.  _ Too _ much sugar. “But if we tell her first, we could hold hands while we’re out and not worry about hiding it from Rosie.”

Simon gave me that,  _ I hate that you’re right _ look and I knew I won that argument. 

But he wanted to do it over breakfast and he’s making it now—he wanted to try to cook something this morning, and, well, the house isn’t burning down. 

I’m sitting close, drinking coffee and divinating about the next hour or so. 

Rosie will take it well, I know she will, but Crowley, I almost want to wake her now and get it over with. I’m so excited. 

“Baz—ah. Am I burning it?” 

This is the third time Simon’s asked this question in the past few minutes, and though I know for a fact he isn’t, I stand up and grab my apron from where it hangs in the pantry. Simon’s wearing his, so I feel it’s appropriate. 

“Move over, Snow,” I say, hip bumping him away from the stove. “Let me work my magic.”

“Wait, you magick our food—”

“Come on, you know it’s a figure of speech.” I give him an appraising look and snatch the spatula from him. I poke at the egg he’s frying slightly and tut. “It’s cooked through, but will you want a hard yolk?”

Simon shrugs. 

“I’ll take it because I love you—grab me a plate. I’m making the rest of the eggs en masse.” 

It’s weird when I have the upper hand in the kitchen, but then again, I think Simon likes baking so much because of how exact it is. Considering how sporadic he is and how calculated I am, it would make more sense if I liked baking and he liked cooking, but there’s something I like about going a little wild with recipes. 

I think Simon likes the control he has when baking. 

So, he’s fine with standing by me when I cook. He watches closely, but he doesn’t question anything I do. 

“Can you set the table?” I ask him when I’m just about finished with cooking everything—typical breakfast. Eggs, sausage, toast. No beans. We’re out of scones, so I might make a run for those just for Simon at some point. 

As Simon sets the table, he asks, “Are you ready to tell her?”

It’s been hitting me in waves, telling Rosie. Sometimes I still can’t believe that I’m here with him, and now we’re going to tell her that I’m dating him? 

I still don’t even know what to call us, other than smitten. We don’t have a title. 

Not that it’s an issue. We don’t  _ have _ to technically have one, but.

“What are we telling her that we are?” I decide to ask. If he has a title, okay. If it’s a matter of,  _ we’re seeing each other _ , or  _ we’re dating _ , that’s fine too. 

Whatever makes him most comfortable. 

“Boyfriends, I would say.” Simon must be done with the table because he cloaks my back with his body. “Would you say you’re my boyfriend, Basilton?”

We don’t have to have a title, but I’m smiling like a fool when he gives us one, anyway. 

“I would certainly say I am. Are you  _ my _ boyfriend?”

Simon leans forward and presses a kiss to my cheek, muttering, “Absolutely,” against my skin. 

Merlin, it’s so nice to have these tender moments with him, and once Rosie knows, it’s all we  _ will _ have. 

I’m in love. 

I’m so in love. 

Now that the table is set, now that everything is in place, we’re ready. I take my seat where I usually do at the table, and Simon’s disappeared into the bedroom. 

This is happening. This is really happening. 

I tap my foot against the ground as I wait and take glances at my phone. 

They’ll be back here in a moment. 

We’re really doing this. 

Rosie’s the first one in the kitchen, and when she sees me, she sleepily smiles. I’ve been staying the night here more than I’ve been at my own flat, so it’s almost an expectation to see me here at this point. 

“Hi,” she says, climbing into her seat. She takes a big drink of her milk. 

“Did you sleep well?” I ask her. Now, I’m tapping my fingers against the wood of the table. 

I’m nervous, so nervous. 

Simon finally appears in the kitchen, and he doesn’t look suspicious in any way, which is odd. He’s usually the ticking time bomb and I’m the one who’s pulled together. The more time I spend with him, the more we’re swapping personalities. 

But he sits next to me and takes a casual sip of his coffee before starting on his meal.

All right, then. I guess we’re eating first. 

My hooligans easily tear through their meals in minutes, and while they do, I’m left picking at what’s on my plate. The nerves are making a mess of my hunger, and I feel full after a bite. 

By the time they’re finished, most of my meal is still on my plate. Rosie’s up and washing her dishes, and Simon looks at me. 

“Are you all right?” he asks quietly, and I nod, putting my fork down. 

“Would you like mine? I’m not that hungry.” 

Simon looks from me, to the plate, then back at me. “Sure.”

He starts scarfing mine down as well. 

Rosie’s about to leave the kitchen, but just before she can, Simon seems to remember that we’re going to tell her and says, “Rosie, come here!”

The child gives us an apprehensive look as she rejoins us, and sits down with her hands folded and on the table. “I didn’t do anything.” 

Simon and I share a look; she wouldn’t say that unless she did, but we’ll find out later. 

“We actually wanted to tell you something,” I say instead of worrying about what she could have done, and I can feel the smile already work its way to my face. It’s warm and makes Rosie ease up. Her look of mild guilt begins to fade. 

“Is it a good something?” Rosie asks, getting a bit more comfortable. She sits up and squirms in her chair a bit to get comfortable. 

“I would say so,” Simon says, giving me a look. “Would you say so?”

“I would,” I reply to him with a warm gaze. “You should say it, though.”

“Say it?” Simon asks, bantering. Probably to rile Rosie up, and it’s working. I catch her in my peripheral, leaning in closer as we speak. 

“Yep, say it. Tell her.” I cross my arms over my chest and look at Rosie. 

In only seconds, she’ll know. In only seconds, Rosie will be in on it and Merlin, it’ll feel  _ so _ liberating….

“So, I should tell her—”

“ _ Daddy! _ ” Rosie whines. “Just say it!”

Simon’s hand finds mine, and when he laces our fingers, he places our conjoined hands on top of the table. “Dr Grimm and I… well, we’re boyfriends.” 

Rosie looks like she doesn’t quite believe us at first. Her eyes are wide with disbelief, and she doesn’t know who to look at. At the rate she’s swivelling her head, I’m surprised her neck doesn’t hurt. 

When she finally stops, she doesn’t say anything, just climbs out of her chair, walks around to us, and grabs our linked hands. 

“You need to follow me,” she says, and she pulls our hands apart and takes us by the wrists. 

We follow her into the living room. Not willingly—she has an iron-clad grip on both of us. 

Simon and I share a confused glance before she pushes us down on either side of the sofa. Shadow’s asleep on the middle cushion, so Rosie picks her up, muttering, “You need to sit somewhere else, silly.” She places Shadow on the ground before looking back at us. 

I don’t think Simon nor I know what she has planned, but she certainly looks like she’s either going to tell us about a mastermind plan she had hatched to drive us together or go on with our morning watching the telly. 

Instead, she begins to tell us what to do. “Daddy, sit next to Dr Grimm. As close as you can.”

Simon does as she says and lifts an eyebrow.

Rosie gives an “evil” chuckle, rubs her hands together, and mutters, “Perfect,” before climbing onto our laps. 

“What’s your plan here?” I decide to finally ask her. I expected her to jump up and down, loop around our legs,  _ something _ energetic. But instead of that, she’s sitting in the middle of our laps, facing us with a mischievous glint in her eye. 

“Kiss!” she finally yells, and she begins to push our faces together. 

I didn’t expect that, and I don’t think Simon did either; he starts  _ howling _ with laughter. 

His laughter is contagious, so I start laughing, too. All of that build up so we could  _ kiss _ ? Rosie looks confused, and Simon pulls her into his chest with one arm and uses the other hand to cup the nape of my neck. 

“Princess, if you wanted us to kiss, you could’ve asked!” Simon says between laughs, and as he winds down, the more I think she realises that Simon wasn’t joking and that we are actually together. 

“Will you kiss right now?” Rosie asks, that shock returning to her face. 

I send her a small smirk and pull her father in for a peck. 

She hops out of our laps the moments our lips meet. 

The kiss is chaste, yet when we pull away, she’s not in the room with us. Simon looks around a bit, pulling away to do so, but then I see her running back into the living room with my phone. 

(How did she know where it was?)

She stands in front of us, facing away, but then she holds up the camera. “Smile!”

So, we do, and she takes the selfie. Then, she hands the phone to me. 

“I want you to hang that, okay?”

I take it back from her and smile, but before I can give her a reply, she climbs into my lap and curls up. 

Her face is buried in my chest. 

Simon gets a bit closer and rubs her back; he gazes at me, confused.

I am, too. And a little let down. I thought she would’ve—does she not want us to date? 

“Rosie, sweetheart. I thought you wanted us to be boyfriends. Is something the matter?”

Rosie’s shoulders start to shake, and the glances between Simon and me are panicked at this point. 

“I-I… I’m”—Rosie lifts her head and she’s covered in snot and tears—“I’m so happy but I’m scared!”

I can hear what Simon’s thinking: Agatha, and the trauma she’s brought upon Rosie. 

“Can you tell me why you’re scared?” I ask her, and I reach out to wipe her tears. She lets me, and once I pull my hands away, she rests her head on my shoulder and continues to whimper and snivel. 

“I love you so much but I don’t want you to ever go away ever again like Mommy did. Will you stay with us forever?” 

The heartbreak in her voice nearly brings me to tears, but her concern is valid—Merlin, it’s so valid and it’s sad that she has to even worry about that. 

Both of my arms wrap around her, and I leave a few kisses on her head. At this point, Simon’s just watching but he’s close, and though I’ve promised him many times that I would never just leave, I feel the need to look at him when I say, “I’ll stay as long as you want me.”

Rosie lifts her head, and I meet her eyes. They’re tear-rimmed and red. “I want you forever, I want you to be my daddy, too.” 

“I know you do, and I will stay here forever if that’s what you want.”

Though Rosie’s still teary, she’s smiling so big. She reaches out to me and places her hands on my cheeks and I take them. I take her as my own. 

“I love you,” she sighs. 

“I love you, too. And I love your daddy. I love you both so much.” 

“You two are going to make me cry,” Simon finally interjects, and he pulls the both of us into his arms and covers us in kisses. 

After we calm down a bit, now that I’m in Simon’s arms and Rosie’s in mine, we allow her to ask questions. Whatever she wants, as long as it’s appropriate to explain. She asks if I live with them now, and I have to explain that I don’t, but I will spend a lot of time here. She asks  _ when _ I will move in, and Simon says when he feels it’s right—Merlin knows she wants me here with them now. She wants to know when we started dating, and we let her know it was after she put two daddies on her family tree. 

By the time Rosie’s asked all of her questions, she’s in a much better, more Rosie-ish mood and we know it’s time to start getting ready to go out and get her things. Simon leaves us to take a shower, and I follow Rosie into her bedroom. 

We’ve already pretty much gutted her room. We took down all of the pictures she had on the wall and stacked them for her to decide if she wants to frame them or keep them in a binder. 

Simon and I took her old bedframe over to Bunce’s so she can transition Stevie into a larger bed. They need to change their crib-turned-bed back to a crib again. (We may have to go over there and give her a helping hand—she’s rather pregnant and starting to have a rough time around.) 

The only thing remaining in Rosie’s room is a dresser, and she’s tearing it open to search through her copious amounts of new clothes. She’s happy that she has so many things to choose from—some days she attempts to squeeze in at least five wardrobe changes just so she can show them all off to us. 

(She usually ends up in that tutu Fiona got her, though. The last time I went to grab clothes from my flat, I brought my violin, too, so she can dance to the music I play for her. Rosie’s over the moon about that and wants me to teach her how to play. I told her that I might, but I’m going to get her a beginner’s violin for her birthday nevertheless.) 

Rosie ends up pulling out a pouffy dress she’ll need to wear some cable-knit stockings under, but I give her the okay and allow her to get ready for the day. 

I slip into Simon’s room and open the wardrobe. He’s made room for my clothing, so rather than having to keep everything folded in a bag, I have it hung up. 

Today’s outfit is a basic staple: turtle neck, jeans, and my long coat. I know Simon loves it. I do feel a bit conflicted about if I should keep my stubble, though. I considered shaving last night, but Simon wanted to cuddle before he got too tired so I didn’t. (And I think he likes the feel of my stubble against his face when I kiss him.) 

I’ll see what he thinks, and if he decides I should go without, I’ll take care of it.

It’s a quick change, and when I’m finished, I lay back and pull out my phone. I still need to brush my teeth, but my things are in his restroom and I don’t want to interfere. So taking pointless online quizzes distracts me until I hear the bathroom door open. 

When I sit up, I’m met with a topless Simon Snow and my jaw drops. 

I’ve fantasised thousands of shirtless Simon Snows, each one a little different than the other. He did fill out during his Watford days, but he was defined then. Kicking magickal creature arse and running from the Humdrum. I imagined muscle back then, and now….

He’s not muscle, and I knew he wouldn’t be muscle, but Holy Morgana, he is glorious. He’s a freckled mess, and he’s caught in the moment, too, because I’m sure he didn’t know I’d be here. And as I continue to sit here and stare with my mouth wide open, the wider his eyes get and the more touch starved I realise I am because I’m… wow. 

This shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, but I’m certainly alert now that he’s here. 

After allowing myself to take him in, I finally shut my mouth and gulp. “I can—I can leave if you—”

“Do I look bad?” Simon finally asks, and my brows furrow together. He glances back into the mirror and bites his bottom lip. 

“You look absolutely glorious,” I assure him, and I find my way to my feet. When he’s in my vicinity, I pull him into me and give him a kiss, and I have to keep myself from plunging in because I would love to eat him up right now. 

“Oh, okay,” he mumbles once I’ve pulled myself from him. He stumbles further into his room and must remember that his bedroom light works again because he flicks it on. “You just looked...well….”

“I was simply taking you in,” I say, trading spaces with Simon. I’m in the bathroom now, putting toothpaste on my toothbrush. “I’ve never seen you shirtless before.”

I can see how red Simon’s ears are from here, and it’s amusing. 

“You liked it?” he asks, pulling on a Nordic sweater I got for him.

“I loved it. I can’t wait to see more.” 

Simon shoots me a flustered glare, but he’s grinning all the same. 

  
  


+++

Rosie’s fallen asleep in the middle of her bedroom, her knees hugged to her chest. I don’t know how she always manages to fall asleep in the excitement of things, but she does. 

Simon’s just about finished painting her walls another shade of pink, and he turned around to ask if she wanted to paint the last bit, but there she was—there she is, gone from the world. 

“I can get her,” I say. I’ve been passively helping—mostly helping Rosie with the paint roller and keeping her balanced on the step ladder. When she wanted to work on her own, I would take pictures of her and Simon. 

Simon looks back at me, paint flecks freckling his face. He looks hard at work, but he nods with a smile on his face. “Thank you, darling.”

I freeze just as I bend over to pick Rosie up. 

_ Darling.  _

Fuck, I love the way he says it. 

I resume with lifting Rosie and she stirs just a little bit as I carry her to the room. Her head rolls onto my chest, but when I place her on the bed, she opens her eyes. 

She pulls the covers over her body and closes her eyes again. “I love you forever, Dad.”

Rosie pins me to the spot with that word—that name. My breath leaves me and I can’t move. 

That title is earned. That title is something that isn’t just handed to a parent’s significant other or a step-parent. 

Even all of those years ago when I babysat, I was never called “Dad.” I was always Baz, Basil, Bazzy, even. 

But Dad. You have to do something right to be called that. 

Do I even deserve it? (Of course I don’t.)

I try not to make anything of it now, though. Simon might not like it, and she certainly can’t call me that at school (yet).

So, I give her a kiss on the forehead and rake my fingers through her curls a few times. “I love you. Sweet dreams.” 

Upon returning to Rosie’s room, I find Simon doing a three-sixty, making sure he’s painted everything he’s needed to. His eyes land on me after a minute, and he raises a brow. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

Do I really look shocked?

Maybe I just need some blood. I’ll chalk it up to that. 

But still. 

“We need to discuss what we’d like Rosie to call me,” I say, and I make my way to him. I pull out my wand and clean him off. “I need some blood. Would you like tea?” 

Simon meets me in the kitchen a few moments later. I’ve already started the kettle and am working on my pouch of blood. 

“Did she already call you something?” he asks as he takes a seat across from me. 

“Yeah….” I rub the back of my neck. 

I don’t deserve to be called “Dad.” I really don’t deserve it. 

“What did she call you?” 

“Dad….”

Simon rests his chin atop his knuckles and looks me over. “Does that mean she’s going to call me Daddy for the rest of my life?” 

“You’re okay with this?” I ask, almost sputtering up blood. But I don’t and take another sip. 

Simon shrugs. “If you are.”

“Well….” I do like that she already trusts me this much, but. “I don’t know if I deserve it, and she  _ can’t _ call me Dad at school. Not yet.” 

“Hey.” Simon reaches over and places his hand on top of mine. He doesn’t say anything until I look at him. “You’ve done so much for her. Don’t discredit yourself like that. And we can talk to her about the school thing, but come on.”

I divert my gaze to the table and sigh. “But—”

“No, Baz. It’s okay if you want her to call you that. If you’re uncomfortable with it, that’s one thing. But you deserve it.” 

After a few moments of silence, we move on almost like the conversation didn’t happen. We start talking about our plans for New Years. 

We move it to the couch, and Simon falls asleep on top of me a few hours later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QotC: Have you noticed any motifs or symbolism? If you have, whats your favorite?


	38. Chapter 38

**Simon**

Rosie sits by the window, and for the past several minutes, she’s been updating us on whether Penny’s here or not. 

The last time we went to the Bunces’, Penny allowed Rosie to feel her tummy where the baby kicked, and ever since we told her that we were spending New Years with them, Rosie’s been looking forward to feeling the baby again. 

Honestly, I don’t blame her. When Agatha was pregnant with Rosie, I  _ loved _ to feel her when she would kick. Agatha hated it—she hated how it felt. But I could sit there for hours while she flipped through the channels, feeling the little movements. Feeling how Rosie kicked against the walls of her tummy. I couldn’t wait to meet her. 

And now, she’s sitting by the window, getting bigger each day. I miss the days where she was little, tottering around the house and clinging to the furniture to keep her balanced. 

I know she won’t stay little forever, and I’ll have to watch her grow from a beautiful little girl to a gorgeous young woman, but….

I miss having little ones around. I’m glad I’ll get to see Stevie, though. 

Sometimes when I get sad about having more children, he helps. 

Baz and I haven’t exactly talked about having more children, but we also haven’t been dating for that long. But… I did let him know I want more kids. One. Maybe two. It depends. I don’t think he’ll mind, though. When I mentioned it, he didn’t dismiss me. He made me feel valid. 

I think that may be one of the things I love about him most. He makes me feel like I’m sane in the things I say. 

But he also makes me feel a whole lot more things, too. Happy being on top of the list. And supported. And listened to. 

I reckon I love Baz, honestly. And when I turn to face him and watch him as he prepares food for tonight, I love him even more. 

He’s here. Ceaselessly here, and he’s made it clear that it would take hell to drive him away. Even then, I think he’d risk going through those flames. He’d find some damn way to fight through it. 

I’ll tell him I love him when the time is right. 

But for now, I’ll kiss him at midnight and let him know that he means the world to me. 

“Aunt Penny’s here!” Rosie yells, which scares Baz and nearly makes him drop the fondue he’s warmed up on the stove. He glances over at Rosie, lets out a sigh, and then smiles. 

Fatherhood looks good on Baz. 

It’s amazing to see him go from babysitter mode to dad mode, because those are two different things. I think he started crossing that line before we started dating, but I’d let it. 

I loved to see how much he cared about Rosie in ways that transcended babysitting or teaching her. In fatherly ways. In ways that expressed a deep love. 

But now that we’ve told Rosie, it’s grown deeper, and it’s rooted into the ground. It’s like he’s grown alongside us the whole time in a parallel way. 

Now, each morning, Baz carries Rosie into the kitchen for breakfast. He gives her forehead kisses, and she’ll curl up in his lap while she watches movies with him. 

It feels like we’re a proper family now, like this. And tonight….

Tonight will be the first night that Rosie sleeps in her room, and Baz will finally be able to sleep in bed with me. But if she crawls in between us, I wouldn’t be surprised, either. 

Family cuddles and all. 

I want this. 

I want us. And I know it’s far too soon now, but I can’t wait until I get that emerald fashioned into an engagement band. 

“Shep, I am  _ just _ pregnant, stop acting like I’m already in labour!” 

Penny and Shepard’s argument brings me to the present, and I watch as the family walks through the door. Shep’s carrying Stevie in one arm and has the other hand on the small of her back. And even though she has a rather intense waddle at this point, she doesn’t want his help.

“You had a contraction the other day, Pen!” 

Once they’re inside, Penny falls into that pregnant lady stance where she keeps both hands on her back. 

It’s wild how a couple of weeks bring a world of difference in a pregnancy. Only a few weeks ago she was still rather light on her feet. 

Penny glances over in our direction, but is determined to have the last word. So she says, “It was a Braxton Hicks contraction and I’ve had them before.  _ You _ were the one who panicked—hello, Simon. Basil.” 

She makes her way towards us, and Shepard decides to leave her be but keeps a panicked eye on her. 

Instead of making her walk too far, I come over and pull her into a hug. She doesn’t linger, though, probably because she’s already uncomfortable. She gives Baz a half-hearted smile and takes a seat at the table. 

The two have been getting on better, which is a relief. I haven’t told Penny about the blessing Malcolm gave me yet. I’m waiting for them to warm up a little more, but I will relatively soon. 

Rosie wastes no time making her way to Penny, and she’s holding Shadow, too. 

“Aunt Penny, I think you should meet your new niece,” Rosie says, holding Shadow up to her. I’ve noticed how gentle Rosie is with the cat, and she’s really good at taking care of her, too. She changes the litter most of the time, fills her food and water bowl, and she spends time each day making sure she plays with her. I have a hunch that Shadow will share a bed with Rosie once she starts sleeping in her renovated room. 

“Oh—she’s lovely, Rosie,” Penny says, surely glad that they’re talking about anything other than her pregnancy. 

“Guess her name,” Rosie says.

While Rosie talks with Penny, I take a look around me. Shep’s making sure Stevie’s comfortable, and the little thing is trying to make his way for the kitchen. 

Baz is still taking care of the food, but he’s just about finished—I’ll help him place the things on the table in a minute. 

Everything is happening around me, and though I do feel a part of it, I also feel out of it. I don’t know. Maybe it’s a moment of stepping back and seeing what my life has become. 

I never thought that my year would end like this. With Baz even in my life, or Rosie now reaching out to feel Penny’s baby. Or with a bakery that’s doing well—it’s doing even better now that my old boss said he’d come in each day to buy food for the breakroom. 

After Agatha left, and before Baz came in, I lived day-by-day. I don’t mean that in a depressing way. At least, not really. But… but I never knew when I would see the end. Or if something would happen to me. 

I guess something could still happen to me, that literally can’t be helped. But….

With Baz’s help, with the encouragement he’s given me, I feel less helpless. I feel more in control. 

Not everything is a scramble, and I don’t have to think day-by-day anymore. I can breathe a little more. I don’t feel so much like I’m drowning now. 

I can stand back and see the bigger picture. I can think in weeks, now. Months, eventually, and years to come. 

I’ll get there. 

New Years doesn’t usually make me this… in my head, I guess. I used to just watch the ball drop while holding a sleeping Rosie and downing a flute of champagne before going to bed myself. 

It’s different, now. And this is a good different. A happy different. Something that makes me smile rather than hopelessly look at my daughter and wish for the next year to be better than the last. 

I mean, I can still do that. But rather than feel so hopeless… I can look into Rosie and Baz’s eyes and know that it only goes up from here. 

“Here, love. Put this on the table for me?” Baz asks, his hand finding the small of my back. I look at him and he’s smiling until he cocks his head to the side. “Something the matter?” 

_ No. Nothing is the matter _ , I think.  _ I’m just in love with you and I’m glad that Rosie punched that kid in the face because we wouldn’t be here now. _

I don’t tell him that, though. Instead, I cup the back of his neck and pull him down for a peck on the lips. “I’m all right.” 

I take the plate from him, and we fill the table with different tasty goodies. 

  
  


**Baz**

Simon’s dazy eyed and quiet most of the night. He doesn’t seem sad, but he seems… vacant. Emotionally. Or so deep in his mind that he’s not really expressing anything. He smiles, he laughs, but it sounds hollow. 

I can tell Bunce sees it, too, but Rosie won’t let her go, so she doesn’t have the time to corner him. 

Even when Rosie eventually passes out, I don’t think Bunce wants to stage some “Open-Up-Simon intervention” in front of Shepard. So she glances at him with thousands of words behind those eyes. 

When those last few moments of 2025 arrive, Simon wakes Rosie back up so she can spend it with us. He gives her apple juice, and goes to offer some to Stevie, but the toddler’s passed out on his father’s chest. So he ends up handing it to Bunce. 

She takes it with those questions still swirling in her gaze. 

Rosie climbs into my lap as the last minute begins to count down, and Simon sits next to me. He’s smiling, and though it’s there—though he means it….

He’ll tell me later if he needs to get it off his chest. 

With only seconds of the year remaining, I allow myself to take in what is before me. 

Twelve months ago, I was in a club, watching the ball drop. I was somewhere, getting pissed and snogging some bloke just to have someone to kiss on New Years. 

Right now, with a few seconds left of the year, I’m with my boyfriend and our daughter. She sits in my lap, counting to the last second. 

Simon is tucked under my arm, doing the same thing under his breath. 

And when 2026 starts, he brings me in for that New Years kiss. 

I take it, and him, and cup his cheek as he dips his chin just slightly. 

I never thought I would be here, I never thought I would be kissing Simon Snow. And when he pulls away, I never thought I would get that smile from him. That grin that, in the past few hours has been hollow, is now filled with love, and light, and so many warm intentions. 

The turn of the new year and Simon Snow’s the same, but he’s here. He’s with me now, and as we focus our energy on blanketing Rosie in New Year’s kisses, he has that look that you can’t mistake. 

He’s filled with love. 

  
  


The Bunces decide to leave after a couple of hours of sitting around and talking about different things; hopes for this year, plans we have in our careers. Penelope wants to go back to school, and Simon’s planning on hiring some more employees. 

We told them about how Rosie’s in on our relationship— _ Simon _ did, even though Rosie was (and still is) on my chest and Simon and I have been holding hands and kissing. 

Penelope told us that she’s having a small gathering that will serve as a baby shower on the eleventh, and that she’d appreciate it if we could come over and help her get ready—which means she wants us to help her clean the house. 

We spoke about other things as well, but it was all stuff that ended up being trivial and fueled by exhaustion. They knew it was time to go when Bunce kept dozing off and waking herself by snoring. 

And now, there are three of us together. In the new year. 

I still can’t quite believe where we are. And that we’re here together. 

I wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

Simon gives one more wave out of the door and turns around to face me, and he still looks better and not quite so...void. He’s smiling as he walks over to me and Rosie—I’m now strewn across the couch and she’s laying on top of me. 

“Time for her to finally sleep in her big girl bed,” Simon says, sitting on the coffee table. He pushes some of Rosie’s hair from her face and gives one of her cheeks a little squeeze. She doesn’t stir. 

“Do you think she’ll try to crawl into bed with us?” 

“Maybe, but we’ll see.” Simon pulls her from my chest and we both stand. I follow behind him and we make it to her room. 

These are moments I don’t need to be here for, but I’m so glad I am. I watch Simon as he places Rosie under her covers and pulls the new duvet over her—white, with little tutus lining the bottom of the cover. 

For a second, she stirs a little. She opens her eyes, but they roll back into her head and Simon sticks a stuffed animal between her arms. She takes it, and falls back asleep. 

We each take turns giving her a kiss on the head, and as we walk out of the room, Shadow walks in. 

Each of us take charge of different rooms to clean; I get the kitchen, and Simon tidies up the living room. He doesn’t have far too much to do—just picking up cups, straightening pillows—so he comes in minutes later and begins to help me. 

Everything is wordless, though. He says nothing as he works side by side with me. And there’s nothing we need to do to fill the void. Not in my opinion. But when I’m just about done with wiping down the stovetop, Simon wraps his arms around me, then cloaks us in his wings. 

I hadn’t even heard them pop out. 

But he takes me in, and I breathe him in. 

Butter. And something sweet. It’s kind of new, but I love the way it smells on him. Brown sugar, maybe?

“Give me a second, and I’ll be right back with you, love,” I tell him softly, and he takes it as an invitation to let me go. 

I finish wiping down the stove and throw away the napkin. 

The rest of the kitchen is clean now, so we can sit. We can talk. We can do whatever we want. 

Simon decides to rest his forehead against mine and wrap his arms around my neck. 

I bask in his warmth and get my fill of him. 

“What are you thinking right now?” I breathe, and he’s smiling. 

  
  


**Simon**

So many things. I’m thinking so many things. But…Morgana, I’m happy. 

All night, I’ve thought every single thing over—every single thing that Baz has done to me. For me. And how much I appreciate him. 

I think about how much these things mean to me, and even if he hadn’t done it, I would still want him. 

I remembered how Penny said that Baz was trying to draw me in, that I was falling into his clutches. I mean, I suppose I have been, but I wouldn’t call it “falling into his clutches.” I would call it falling into his arms. Falling into him. Falling in love. 

When it comes down to it, when I mill over all of these things in my mind, I know. I know I love him now. 

And I’ll show him. I can’t quite tell him yet, but I’ll show him. 

I’ll show him now.

I close my eyes and pull him in close. He smells good, but in an end-of-the-day way. Like his cologne is wearing off, but he’s not quite musty yet. His forehead is against mine, and I’m in the moment. In his moment. I start swaying us back and forth. 

At first, Baz is unsure of what we’re doing. He doesn’t move with me, even though I’m just… swaying. 

“What is this?” he asks, and his hands find my waist. Something shoots up me and I don’t quite know what the feeling is, but I want more. 

I want more of his hands in places that they haven’t been. 

“Well, I was dancing,” I tell him, and he gives me a look. Like he’s amused, but also uncertain. 

“Dancing?”

“Hey. It’s romantic. It’s what they do in the movies,” I say, and I can feel the heat blush my cheeks and work down my neck. I thought he might’ve liked it—

“Simmer down,” Baz chuckles, and he pulls me in so close our stomachs are touching. He presses his forehead against mine again, and we start to sway like I was before. “I just didn’t expect that.”

Neither of us say anything else, and we melt into each other. He holds me like he’ll never let go. I cling to him like my life depends on it. There’s music playing on the telly—it’s faint, but it keeps us swaying. 

It keeps me close to him. 

Even though I’m standing, I could fall asleep in his arms. I want him to keep me right here. Between them, and when we stop moving, I’m afraid he’s going to pull away. But he doesn’t. Not completely. One arm remains around me. The other hand cups my jaw. 

He looks me in the eyes now and they twinkle with more admiration. They’re a beautiful deepwater grey and I could spend days diving in them. 

I do. I know I love him. And I will tell him someday. 

“Thank you for letting me have you,” Baz whispers, and he’s so vulnerable. So open. He’s been this way for a while now, but never so much that I can see every bit of him.

This is who he is, as a whole. This is him. 

Baz tilts my head up, and he envelopes me with his lips, with his touch. We’ve kissed before, and we’ll kiss again, but Merlin, he has me breathless in seconds. 

It’s almost like I’m floating. 

I’m pulled ever closer to him, and he stumbles back, his arse finding the table. He brings me in between his legs, and after a few more moments of kissing, once my mouth starts to get raw, his hands begin to inch lower. 

I don’t ever want this to stop. 

For a moment, he pulls away for breath and the love in his eyes doubles as something else. Flames. Passion. He’s looking at me differently, but it’s powerful enough to loop a hook around me and pull me even closer. 

I can feel it in places that he hasn’t had control over before. 

The look he gives me now tells me a few things. He wants me, and we need to take it to more private chambers. 

We stumble to my room and Baz locks the door behind us. 

He climbs onto my bed first, and I straddle his lap. He looks excited, and surprised, but I want to give him everything. I want to unfold before him, and Merlin, his face lights up when I stretch out my wings.

I lean back into him, and as our snogging gets more heated, his hands travel. From my arse cheeks to the hem of my shirt. He pulls it off in one glorious motion while I work at his buttons. 

His fingers dance along the band of my pants, and he makes easy work of my jeans—he unbuttons them in seconds, and I shimmy out of them fast. My body works quicker than my mind does, and I think it’s driving Baz mad. He’s a grinning, horny mess. I can already see the outline of his erection through his trousers. 

He likes it even more when I wrap my tail around him, pulling him in closer as I finally unzip him and gain more access. But he doesn’t quite let me touch him right away, because his hands find me first and he gives me a squeeze. 

Pleasure shoots up through me and I moan his name, and it’s like sparks have kicked up because I can almost see stars when I open my eyes. 

And when I look at Baz, he has a shocked look on his face, like he sees them, too. 

I decide not to think about it now and push Baz down against the bed, hovering over him as I begin to work at pulling down his pants all while reconnecting our lips. 

He pushes into me further, arching up into me. He would pull me down onto him if he could, but I think he wants to continue working on me. 

As he pushes down my pants, as I finally get his trousers off, his hands stop. I don’t question it, or him. We’re still snogging.

But even then… even then, I can feel him start to distance himself. I can feel him pull away. 

I stop trying to feed into it when it’s just me doing the kissing, and when I get a look at him, when I’m back to sitting up on his lap and have my pants pulled back up, he appears… hurt. 

Did I do something wrong?

“I’m sorry,” Baz breathes. I think he’s trying to gauge my reaction, but I don’t even know what I’m quite feeling. Aroused, yes. But I’m not going to make Baz do something he doesn’t want to. 

(I hate thinking this but… but is it how I look?) 

“It’s okay,” I finally say. I push the strands of hair out of his eyes and continue to watch him. See if I can tell what’s going on in his mind. 

“I… I can’t. Not right now,” Baz says like he’s shocked at himself. He still has that wild look in his eyes, but….

I won’t push him. I don’t want him to be uncomfortable and the heat isn’t there anymore.

Baz pulls himself from underneath me, and he tugs his clothes off, except his pants. He says nothing and lays down. 

I lay next to him, on my stomach. 

“Do you want me to spell off the wings?” he asks me, and he still doesn’t sound quite back to normal. But I give him the okay and he does, and then he has me roll on my back. 

And then he straddles me.

Now, I’m confused. 

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Making up for ruining moment,” Baz breathes and he looks down at me. The lust isn’t there anymore, but the love is. He dips down to kiss me. “I… I can’t do  _ that _ right now. But I can show you how much I love you.”

Baz starts attacking me with this love, and making sure I’m feeling it, even if it’s not in a sexual way. 

He lulls me to sleep by covering every square inch of me with kisses and confessions of love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are now past 100,000 words. 
> 
> Wow. 
> 
> Anyway, sorry for ruining the moment. It's important later. 
> 
> Did you know I only have like 6 more chapters to write and this book is done?
> 
> QotC: Let's get back to something we started with: what's behind the door? It's coming back soon, so I wanted to see if anyone thought about it....
> 
> Have a great day and see you tomorrow!


	39. Chapter 39

**Baz**

I don’t know what to think anymore when it comes to my sexual tendencies with Simon because after a few nights together, alone, in one bed—because Rosie  _ is _ actually sleeping in her room now—I still can’t quite figure myself out.

Merlin, I am so attracted to that man, and seeing him shirtless has me speechless. Simon isn’t far too insecure in his weight, but sometimes, bits and pieces of self-consciousness poke through. He pulls the covers over him and I pull them down. He crosses his arms over his stomach and I pull his hands into mine. He tries to hide, sometimes, and I have to grab him by the face and tell him, “Simon, you are so fucking beautiful.” 

And I mean it, I absolutely mean it. That’s why I showered him in love that first night we spent with our clothes off. That’s why I soothed him to sleep with my love and affection for him. 

I feel terrible that that was all I  _ could _ do for him that night. Because he gets me going, he does. 

But….

But I feel tainted. 

For the longest time, I was sleeping with Lamb. He’s had sex with me in every way we could think of—I  _ can _ be kinky—and as much as I want to touch Simon, as much as I want to make love to him….

I don’t feel clean. 

I don’t feel worthy. 

I told him that last night. 

Yesterday we spent all day with Penelope, helping out with the crib and other furniture while she folded and refolded onesies, so Rosie was tired out from playing with Stevie and Simon was melancholy. (I think he might have baby fever, which I don’t blame him for. But we need to wait a little bit—at least, until I’m moved in.) 

Neither of us was in the mood to snog or allow things to get heated, but we both laid together, cuddled up. We talked about several things, and when he caught me tracing some of his stretch marks (I love them, they look like lightning bolts) he asked me. 

“Did you stop because you didn’t like what you saw?”

“Simon, I’ve told you that I think you’re beautiful. With stretch marks, without. With your tummy, when you just got back from a care home. I don’t care what you look like and I mean it.” 

He still didn’t look so sure, and I’m sure… I’m sure he was comparing himself to who he saw me with. I’m sure he was comparing himself to Lamb. 

So I made him look at me. I made sure he had no way to divert his gaze when I said, “I do not feel worthy of  _ you _ .”

Simon looked at me like I said something offensive, and like he made a connection, and he told me, “Don’t let what he did to you make you feel like you are dirty and unwanted. Please.”

We didn’t say anything after that. He kissed me, he let me rest my head on his chest, and I fell asleep to his heartbeat. 

Now, I lay here, wishing I could stay with him and mill around in my thoughts some more, but I can’t. 

The start of the term is upon us and I need to wake Rosie up. 

I can’t believe that school’s back, and now that it is, I have a lot of other things to think about. 

But I get out of bed first, after giving Simon a kiss on the cheek. It doesn’t wake him up, but he does roll onto his stomach. 

While I get dressed for the day—muted aquamarine button-down and plum trousers—I think about all I need to do to prepare for upcoming lesson plans. We’re still going with the same themes we’ve been studying all along. We’re talking about towns today in Rosie’s class. But there are so many things I have to do other than make those lessons. I also have to start working on finalising the testing children need to take to be qualified for GT, and Merlin.

The headmaster’s position. I need to prepare my things for the application. And run through interview questions—I may have Bunce help me with that later today. We’re going over later to help Shepard clean the living room. (I would ask Simon to help me with a practice interview, but I don’t know how well he’d be able to help me.) 

I try not to let it overwhelm me, though. It hasn’t before. 

When I’m ready for the day, I take my duffel and place it on the couch so I won’t forget it, toast some bagels, and wake Rosie. 

Since she hasn’t been sleeping in the room with us, she clings to the stuffed animal that we got for her while looking for room decor online. I think it’s named Cooky, and it’s this Pepto-Bismol pink. It’s almost bigger than she is, but she loves the thing to death and clings to it like it’s her lifeline. 

That’s why I hate prying it from her arms, but I do quickly take her into mine and she nuzzles her face into my chest. 

“S’ too early,” she mumbles into my neck as I carry her to the kitchen. 

“I know, but we need to get back to school,” I tell her, and when I place her in her seat, she pouts a little, then wipes the crud out of her eyes. 

“Can we start  _ tomorrow _ ?”

I sit across from her and take a bite of my bagel. “No can do, sweetheart. We need to learn about towns today.” 

Rosie doesn’t argue any further and eats her breakfast, half-zoned out, half-alert. At some point, Shadow hops up on the table and takes a seat where Simon would be, and just before Rosie gets up from the seat to get ready for the day, Simon comes in, bleary-eyed but awake. He kisses Rosie on the head, and she runs off to pull on her uniform. 

“Are you going back to the flat after Penny’s?” Simon asks, taking a seat. (He now opens the bakery at nine, so he’s in no rush.)

“I should. I have a lot of things to work on.” As much as I want to be with him here. But I have a desk at the flat, and I can spread out easier on it. 

Simon looks a little saddened by this, but he shrugs it off and stands. “All right. Do you know when you’ll be back?” 

“When would you want me to be?” 

Again, Simon shrugs but I can tell he doesn’t want me to go at all. He gives me that look that summons me, so I stand. And I find him; he wraps his arms around me. 

“You’re not supposed to be living with me yet, Basilton,” he says to me. 

“I’m not—unless you’re extending the invitation.” 

Simon smirks, but he shakes his head and pecks my lips. “At least for the weekend, but if you want to come earlier, please do.” 

“I don’t wanna go to school,” Rosie whines, walking into the kitchen. I give Simon one more kiss before I scoop Rosie from the ground. She’s still pouting, but she holds onto me. 

“Can’t use those eyes on me, missy,” I chuckle. “Want the stardust?”

She nods. 

We leave Simon a few minutes later, and the car ride is quiet for the most part, but at some point, I notice Rosie starting to doze off. We’re just about to arrive at school, so to wake her up, I ask, “Do you want to know the project you’ll have to do for towns?” 

This wakes her up a little. She looks at me with some interest, but she’s still tired. 

I’ll give her some M&M’s later. 

While we walk into the school, I give her a little explanation of what the plan is. They’re supposed to examine and talk about communities within communities, such as firefighters. And then, they’re supposed to explain how they help create community in a town. It’s not really giving her an advantage because we upload the curriculum online, but not many people look. 

I think I know what she’s planning to do, and when she leaves my classroom, she lets me know that teachers are a very important part of a town. 

She leaves me with a smile on both of our faces and a pack of M&M’s in her hands. 

(I might get in trouble for that.) 

Each morning starts with the boring conference period where we have to bang out the last few logistics of GT testing, but by the end of the period, we’ve got it figured out. We just need to submit the test to the board and officiate a date. 

One odd thing I noticed while working with the teachers is that they gave me apprehensive looks throughout the meeting. No one said anything to me, but… I figure they may know that I am applying to become the headmaster. 

The rest of the day between then and Rosie’s class is relatively typical of a beginning-of-term school day. Students are much more engaged now then they will be at the start of week two, and they work on a worksheet that’s relatively related to their topic, but is mostly busy work for them to do while I’m preparing their bigger projects. 

When Rosie comes in, though….

Well, things are certainly different than they have been, because when Rosie comes into the room with her classmates, she runs up to me and clings to my legs like she hasn’t seen me in years. 

“Hey, now,” I say, running my fingers through her curls. “You’re going to have to let go if you want me to get started.”

“But I already  _ told _ you I want to start tomorrow,” she groans. I gently pull her off of me and she gives me a look. 

“That won’t work on me, Miss Salisbury. Now, sit on the reading mat and complain to me after class.” 

That in itself isn’t too odd. I’ve had kids hug my legs, but when we start to work, she gets. Well. Clingy, I guess. And not in a normal way. 

The kids split off into different places at some point, and while I’m used to her working near my desk, she comes up to me and asks if she can do her work while sitting in my lap. I know she used to do that with Simon, so it makes sense that she would ask, but… that’s not entirely professional. 

So, I have her sit next to me in a desk pushed next to mine and that seems to appease her until….

“Dad?” 

A few kids notice this and either give her a look, or they giggle. It’s normal that kids accidentally call their teachers by “mum, “dad,” or something equivalent, but it’s always on accident. 

Though Simon and I talked about how she needed to call me Dr Grimm at school a few days ago, she intended to call me Dad. 

I love that she wants to call me that—it’s an honour—but Merlin, she can’t do that here. 

“Dr Grimm, Rosie,” I correct her, and that curious look on her face turns to hurt. 

“Why?” 

I take my faux glasses and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’ll talk to you about that after class. What were you going to ask?” 

For the rest of the class, Rosie pouts. Like, a full-on pout. The eyes, the bottom lip. She won’t quite listen to me either, and by the end of the class, she sits alone in front of my desk, slouched in the chair. Her glare is sharp as daggers. 

This is more of a familial matter than it is professional, but the lines are so blurred that it could be taken for either. 

So, when she looks at me like she is now, I’m not sure if I should talk to her like a teacher or a parent. 

“Can you please tell me why you weren’t listening to me today?” I ask, not wanting to sound authoritative. But it do. A little bit. 

Rosie gives me those eyes and I try not to melt but—fuck, I can’t. So I do melt. I get comfortable, and I lean closer to her. She puts her hand on top of the desk, and I place mine on top of hers. 

“I thought you were my dad. You said forever,” she murmurs with a frown. And I melt even further. I don’t want her to feel like she isn’t mine—she is. 

“And I mean it, sweetheart. But right now, we’re in a situation where you can’t call me Dad yet. I’ll need to let the school know and—”

“Can you do it now?” Rosie starts kicking her legs, but she doesn’t look any happier. “I wanna call you Dad  _ now _ .”

If it was that easy, I would. I would’ve gone right to the headmaster and said something. But dating parents… it’s looked down upon and it’s not getting any easier with how obviously close Rosie is to me. 

We’re going to need to tighten our cover. 

And I’m going to need to make her an offer, but I don’t quite know what I can promise yet. Because it will need to be a promise. 

“How about this,” I finally say. “We can turn it into a game. If you don’t call me Dad at school until I let the headmaster know, I’ll get you anything within reasonable means. Kind of like when you and your Daddy played the ‘Don’t Talk About Dr Grimm’ game. Does that sound fair?”

Rosie looks me over like she’s making an important decision, and I guess she is. But then she gets this large smile on her face that kind of scares me. I think she knows what she wants, but she doesn’t say it. She stands up from her chair and dusts her behind off. 

“Okay, Dr Grimm,” she says and attempts to leave the classroom. I follow in tow because I’m certain she’ll be late for class and I don’t want her to get in trouble. 

The day carries on into the after school programme and when I am the last teacher there with Little Miss Salisbury doing her maths, I approach her and crouch down so I can look over her homework. She gives me a side glance and pushes her paper over so I can look at it. 

Why she already has maths homework baffles me, but I take it and check her answers quickly.

(I need to pick Simon up from the house; he asked if we could all go in one car.)

“It looks good, sweetheart. Are you ready to go?”

“You’re not supposed to call me that, Dr Grimm,” Rosie says as I’m heading to collect my things and I turn to look at her. 

“Come again?” 

“Since you are not my dad, you’re not supposed to call me that.” 

I don’t know if I’m supposed to laugh or roll my eyes—she’s being a complete smart-arse. 

“We’re not in school anymore.”

Rosie shrugs and follows me down the corridor and to the GT room. “I’m method acting.”

I almost stop walking. “How do you know what that is?”

The whole charade’s dropped when she takes my hand, and I don’t let it go. 

“Daddy and me used to watch behind the scenes in movies. Actors do it to be the character better.” 

That answers it. 

Rosie’s herself throughout our drive home, but as soon as Simon climbs into the car, she’s back to her “method acting.” 

“Daddy, is my teacher supposed to drive me?”

Simon faces her, and he sounds confused when he says, “What do you mean?”

“Dr Grimm said that he’s my teacher, not my dad.” 

Simon now turns to me, and he looks a little bit disheartened. “What?”

“I said that she needs to act like I’m her teacher at school—we can talk about it later. She’s method acting.” I put my hand on his thigh for assurance, and he places his atop mine. I can see an amused smile quirk at the corner of his lips. 

This will probably die out by tomorrow, so I chalk it up to that and forget about it when we arrive at Bunce’s. 

**+++**

It doesn’t die out. By the end of the week, she’s gone back to like she’s just joined my class. She’s shy around me, she raises her hand when she needs to ask a question, and while she usually takes up so much of my mental space when it comes to teaching, now it’s like she’s trying to make herself minuscule. 

I know she’s doing it to be a little punk, but she’s so damn good at it, it’s scary. She still makes Simon call me on nights I don’t spend with them so she can talk to me over the phone, and while we talk, she keeps up that act. 

As ridiculous as it is, I think it’s getting the job done.

As I pick them up now on Saturday morning, Rosie looks at me in confusion and turns back to Simon. “Look, Daddy! It’s Dr Grimm!”

Simon gives me a look of mild exasperation and I shake my head. 

If she’s going to be that way, all right then. We’ll just deal with it. I pull Simon over for a kiss and then we climb into the car. 

When we reach the dance studio, I climb out to walk Rosie in, but Simon grabs my arm and I stop. 

“We might as well go in together if we’re going to get coffee.” 

True. 

But also, it makes me smile for some odd reason. It’s usually one of us or the other that takes her in, but now….

Now we can be open about our relationship. And we are. We haven’t been hiding anything for the most part. I just love being able to be apart of something so trivial yet so important to Rosie’s life. Even if she’s “method acting.” 

Also, I’m somewhat excited to see how the dance mums will react to us walking Rosie in. They’re usually all over us. 

The sea of dance mums reels around to find us as we walk through the door, linked together by our hands. They’ve stopped talking altogether to stare at us, and while Rosie pays no mind to it and skips back into her classroom, sporting the stardust and a brand new leotard, the dance mums certainly have a lot of wordless thoughts. A few throw disgruntled or disappointed looks our way and I swear to Merlin one slips a few banknotes to another one, who in turn stuffs them into her bra. (That surprises me because they were so sure of themselves the last time I came in.) For once, none of them attempts to come over and greet us with their hands and self-assured smiles, and it’s almost a miracle. 

Even the secretary gives us a gobsmacked look and when Simon goes to sign Rosie in, she says, “I would’ve never thought”

I don’t know how Simon’s feeling, so I pull my hand from his so I can prop my arm up on his shoulder and lean against him. “Does it matter?”

She shakes that surprise off of her face, acknowledges that Simon’s signed Rosie in, and mutters, “See you in a bit.” She sounds disappointed.

Simon takes my hand back as we walk from the studio to the cafe, and once we’re sat down with our drinks, he giggles. 

I take a sip of my coffee. “Yes, love?”

“If all I had to do was hold a bloke’s hand to get those women off my back, I would’ve done it years ago,” Simon says with a laugh. 

I raise my brow and he winks. 

“I just hope they’re not so narrow-minded they find a reason to ostracise Rosie,” I mumble, and Simon nods. He nods, and nods, and then he stops and his gaze is focused on my coffee cup. 

I can’t quite tell what’s running through his mind, so I take his hand and he looks up at me. It doesn’t look like he’s upset, but he’s filled with questions. 

“Are you afraid that it might be an issue for Rosie?”

“What? Oh.” Simon snaps out of that broody look by shaking his head and squeezes my hand. “Not really. I was just curious, and I’ve only heard Rosie’s side because we’ve been busy. What’s up with this ‘method acting’ schtick?” 

These past few days, Simon and I have been rather busy. We have short conversations when I drop Rosie off and he calls every night, but Merlin, we’re both running around, trying to get things in order—Simon’s looking into hiring employees and I have a lot of interview prep. 

Even when we are together at Bunce’s, he’s usually doing his own thing with Shepard—hanging things up, putting furniture together—and I’m in the other corner, talking with Bunce—folding clothes, discussing my upcoming interview. So, this is our catch up date before we head back to the Bunces’. (At this point, we just need to hang up some decorations for her minuscule baby shower, but I think it’s an excuse to have us over because she does appreciate our company—even mine.) We’re picking up take away from Alice’s and having lunch over there with them. 

I’m just glad that we  _ do _ have this time together where we’re not too busy, and I can tell Simon’s enjoying it, too. He’s practically glowing now that I really look at him. 

“Well,” I say, leaning against my elbow, “Rosie’s been wanting to call me Dad at school, which I love, but I’m trying to get the position before I talk to the headmaster about this… about us. Parent-teacher dating is… well….”

“Taboo?” Simon asks, and he doesn’t seem upset by any means, so that’s a good sign. 

“Somewhat? It’s not too professional at least.”

Simon nods. “I can see why.” Then, the neutral look on Simon’s face mutates into an amused smirk. “Also, what is this game Rosie’s told me about?” 

Oh? So she’s told him about the game? I chortle and squeeze his hand, lifting the mug to my lips. “It’s the same game you played when you bribed her not to talk about me.”

That smirk turns to shock and now I’m grinning behind my coffee cup. “She told you about that?”

“Indeed.” 

The two of us stare at each other for a moment before laughing. 

“So what did you promise her?” he asks after we wind down a bit, but he’s still smiling and he looks beautiful like that. 

I missed him, even though I’ve seen him every day this week. 

I guess I just miss constantly being around him. 

“I said I’d get her anything,” I say like it’s nothing—because in theory, it isn’t—but when I look at Simon, his eyes are wide and he looks like he can’t believe me.

“ _ Anything _ .”

I nod. “Yes, anything.”

Simon presses his lips together and glances away, cupping the mug of coffee between his palms as he tries to keep his eyes on anything but me. 

“What?” I ask. 

“You opened Pandora’s box with that one, Basilton.”

“And I also said within reasonable means. I won’t get her another cat,” I say in defence. And though Simon doesn’t seem to be peeved, I feel as if I’ve done something wrong. 

“Your ‘reasonable’ and hers might not be the same,” is all he says, and that seems to end the conversation. 

During the rest of our date, we talk about things other than Rosie’s antics, though he does ask how she’s doing right now in classes. And the answer is that she’s doing relatively normal, as normal as a smart child can be. She hasn’t had an at-school breakdown yet and she’s been doing well on her maths. She had to do a review sheet for her history class, and she got marks off of one of the questions because she didn’t write down the Eurocentric version of events (because she’s heard my rants about history being whitewashed), but she’s in good shape in the class otherwise. 

Simon tells me he’s just about to open applications for an additional baker and a sales associate—people are still coming to the bakery in hordes even after the holidays, and because of how well he’s doing, the extra help is needed. (It also gives him more time to spend with Rosie, which he’s looking forward to.) 

As for me, I let him know I’m basically studying the employee handbook and doing so much background research on the school, it hurts my head. (I do it for hours on end.) I’m also brushing up on schoolteacher ethics and the dos and don’ts of assuming a higher position of power. 

(Simon makes fun of me for that last part, and I tell him that he can sod off, but he ends up grinning.) 

By the time we’re finished going over what we did during the week and have ordered Alice’s over the phone, it’s time to pick up Rosie. I decide to grab her from the studio, and I give Simon the keys to warm up the car. 

The dance mums are still stunned from what I can tell because when I walk in, they don’t even try to get near me. I don’t know if it’s homophobia or shock, but right now I’m counting it as a way to get out of that dance studio without being harassed. 

Rosie holds my hand as we pick up the food from Alice’s and walk to the car, but as soon as I try to open the door for her, she gives me a look. 

I give her one back. “What’s this look for, Miss Salisbury?”

“Are teachers supposed to—”

Simon opens the passenger door and says, “Just get in, Rosie. The food’s going to get cold.”

Shepard opens the door when we get to the Bunces’ and Rosie is the first to find Penelope, who is sitting on the couch, looking incredibly uncomfortable. Rosie seems to take no notice of this and sits next to her. 

“Can I feel the baby?” she asks, and Bunce sends me and Simon a look that screams for help. 

“How about after lunch, Princess?” Simon says, sweeping in. He picks Rosie up from the couch and swings her over onto his hip. She doesn’t look too happy with it, but she doesn’t try to escape his grasp. 

I use this as an opportunity to help Bunce. She takes both of my hands when I hold them out to her. We make our way to the kitchen once I’ve hoisted her up.

“Don’t wait up for me, Basil,” she says as I walk in step with her. “I’m pregnant, not—”

“Just accept the help, Bunce.”

She doesn’t argue with me, and we each assume a seat once we’re at the table. 

I sit between Simon and Rosie, and as soon as my arse hits the wood of the chair, Rosie says, “Dr Grimm, why are you sitting between me and Daddy?”

Simon sighs heavily and pops open his lunch. 

I roll my eyes. 

Penelope looks between me and Rosie with an inquisitive look on her face. 

Rosie picks up that Penelope’s confused, so she turns off that look—that character—that she wears when she acts like I’m not her Dad. 

“Do you wanna know why I’m calling him that again instead of Dad?” Rosie asks. 

Penelope gives me one more look before nodding. “Go ahead.” 

“I’m method acting!” 

Shepard glances at Rosie mid-handing a breadstick to Stevie. “Do you know what method acting is?”

Rosie nods fervently. “It means I have to pretend that Dad is  _ only _ my teacher because if I win the game, I can get a baby for myself!”

Simon almost spits out his water and stares at her with widened eyes. 

That was absolutely the last thing I expected her to want, and when Simon looks at me with that same surprised  _ and _ horrified look over her head, I know what I’ve done. 

“See! I told you!” Simon says, huffing. “How is  _ that _ reasonable? You should’ve given her an option of  _ physical _ things.”

“A baby’s physical!” Rosie objects.

“But where  _ would _ we get a baby, Rosie?” I ask her calmly, trying to negate her now riled up father. I do give him a sorry glance, but it’s quick and I meet Rosie’s gaze again.

Now, Rosie’s huffy because she knows I’m right. She turns towards her food and slouches a little in her chair. “I want a baby.” 

This is all of my fault, and though I found it funny at first—this chaotically beautiful situation—I see that Simon’s pouting a bit, too. Not so obviously, but his shoulders are rolled forward and he’s avoiding eye contact. 

Well, until Bunce clears her throat. Simon’s head whips up. 

“I was going to say… Rosie, do you want to watch over Stevie next weekend? See if you actually want a baby?” 

This might just be Bunce pawning off her son so she can get some rest before she has the baby—which I don’t blame her for—but it would also be good to get a gauge on how ready Rosie is for a sibling, and for Simon to either alleviate his baby fever or fuel it. 

“I would be fine with that,” I say, and Simon looks at me with a sparkle of admiration in his eyes. I smile softly at him. 

“Does it have to be Stevie?” Rosie whines. “I know what he’s like!”

“Okay, but you’ve rarely been around him when I’m not in the house,” Penelope says. “It would be good for you.” 

“I second that,” Simon says, and Shepard looks from our family to his. 

“Do I even get a say in this?” he asks. 

“I mean, of course.” Bunce rests her hand on his forearm. “But it would be good for us to have the weekend together,” Bunce says, virtually giving him no choice but he does smirk. She smacks his arm. “Don’t be weird.” 

“So it’s set, then?” Simon asks, looking from me to Bunce. Now he’s excited for this, I can tell. And I don’t know what’s making him happier—being able to take care of Bunce’s kid instead of the other way around for once, or that he will be able to spend time with a toddler again. 

(I’m personally excited because I’ll be able to see how we work together with a little one—this is good all around.) 

“Does that mean we’re taking Stevie?” Rosie asks, taking turns to look at every adult in the room. 

“Consider it a test run,” Penelope says. 

And I nudge Rosie gently. “It’s to see if you’re ready for a baby. But you still have to win the game, first.” 

Rosie slips back into the facade she wears when “method acting,” and she gives me a shy smile. “Yes, Dr Grimm.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY! Thank you for 400+ kudos! It means so much that y'all are so invested in this story!
> 
> I'll see you tomorrow!


	40. Chapter 40

**Simon**

I’m just starting to dust the telly when Shepard knocks on the door. 

After talking about watching Stevie a bit longer, we decided that it would be a good idea to bring him over later on Saturday after Rosie’s and my therapy session. The point of watching him is to see if we as a unit can take care of him, so sticking him with just Baz wouldn’t be the best. But now we’re all here to take care of the little guy. 

Not that Baz would be miserable taking care of him on his own. Stevie’s a great kid. Crazy smart already. I think Penny’s already teaching him to read. He wouldn’t be hard to take care of alone, and he’s easy to put to bed. Plus, he comes with a toilet. (Meaning that when Baz opens the door for Shepard, he’s holding Stevie in one hand and a little plastic toilet in another.) 

But this is a family affair. It’s a test. 

That’s what makes me so nervous. It’s one thing for me and Baz to take care of Rosie. We started dating when she was seven years old. She was already old enough to have common sense and her mindset and the expectation of how she’s treated has already been formed. My parenting has already taken full effect. 

The two of us have never worked together to take care of a baby—okay, Stevie isn’t a baby, but close enough. And though we can’t exactly  _ parent _ parent him, we will have a different dynamic. 

What if we’re not compatible in that way? 

Like I said, it is a test for all of us. A test for Rosie to see if she can handle having the attention on her lessened, and a test for Baz and I to see if we can work well together with someone so… new. 

We’ll see what this weekend holds….

And if things go well we can see where we’ll go from there, but there are no babies in the immediate future. Maybe just more babysitting.

(Merlin, why am I even thinking about this? Why are we even doing this? Baz and I have been together for just a  _ little _ over a month and he doesn’t even live with us. This is barmy.) 

“Simon, help me?” Baz asks, and I set the duster down so I can take the plastic toilet from him. When I take that from him, he meets me where I am and hands Stevie over. “I’m going to grab the rest of his things from the boot and then we’ll be ready to go.” 

Baz seems excited, too. He’s smiling at me, and the light in his eyes twinkle. 

He’s a lot more optimistic about this and  _ he’s _ the pessimist. Maybe it’s just my insecurities getting the best of me again. (Actually, I’m sure that’s what it is.) 

I just won’t think about it, then. I’ll lock everything away. 

It’s for the best. 

“Rosie, Stevie’s here!” I call, and within moments, she runs out and hugs my legs. 

She’s in the leotard she was in earlier for her ballet classes and the tutu Fiona got. Baz promised her earlier that he would play the violin so she and Stevie could dance to it, and she’s taking it rather seriously.

But when she looks up at me now, she notices that she’s in close proximity with Stevie’s toilet and she fake gags. 

“That’s for the loo! Ew!”

“It would help if you put it in there, then,” I say, handing the toilet to her with one hand. She gives me a look of disdain and I raise a brow. “Who wants a baby?” 

Rosie huffs and takes the toilet, mumbling, “The things I do!” as she makes her way to her bathroom. 

“Siwwy!” Stevie laughs, and I smile at him. 

Crowley, he’s so cute. 

I bounce him a little on my hip, and when I get the child’s attention, he grins. “Are you ready to spend the weekend with us?”

Stevie’s eyes widen, and I have no idea what is going through his head, but he grins. “Yeah!”

And then, his attention veers away from our actual conversation and he leans forward, taking my hair into his sticky little toddler hands. 

It’s getting long. I can almost pull it up into a ponytail, so I’m not surprised when he begins to play with it. 

“Okay, we’ve got everything we need,” Baz says coming back in, and Shep follows behind him. 

He approaches me and Stevie, and to give the man easier access to his child, I turn him a little so they’re looking at each other. 

“All right, little man,” Shep says, holding out a fist. Stevie, who is already smiling, bumps his knuckles against his fathers’. “Mommy and I will see you tomorrow night, okay?”

Stevie nods. “Night!” 

This kid is always so enthusiastic. It’s adorable. 

Shep leaves after giving Stevie a kiss, and now we’re all alone with a baby. 

Not exactly a baby.

Whatever. 

“Wanna go down?” I ask him, and when he nods, I set Stevie on the ground and watch him totter back to Rosie’s room. He pushes the door open, and then closes it with an accidental slam. 

“You and Bunce have very slammy children,” Baz notes, taking a seat on the sofa. I sit next to him and watch as he opens the bag. 

“Hey. One of them is yours now,” I say with a nudge, and he gives me a fond smile before going back to the bag. “What are you doing?”

Baz sits back for a moment and gives me an admiring once over (ironically enough), and says, “I’m not complaining. I’m making an observation.” And when he goes back to his work on dismantling the bag, he says, “I want to know what items we were given to take care of him.”

“It’s not  _ Chopped _ , Baz,” I laugh, pulling a few training pants from the bag. “There are training pants”—I grab the several pairs of clothes from the bag—“clothes”—a few toys and a cardboard book—“things to keep him entertained.”

“I am fully aware of that, Spitfire,” he retorts, stuffing the things back into his nappy bag. “I just wanted to see if there was anything we needed to grab from the supermarket before we got comfortable for the night.”

“ _ Daddy _ !” Rosie sobs, running into the living room. She’s holding up that stuffed bunny we got her on a whim and it’s covered in vomit—oh no. 

“Stevie threw up all over Cooky!” she cries, and while Baz goes to comfort her, I follow the sound of the newfound whining. 

Swinging open Rosie’s door, I find Stevie sitting in his own mess and I crinkle my nose at the sight and smell, but… maybe this will sway Rosie away from wanting another person in the house for a few years. I’m trying to look at the positive here, even though being sick is no fun. 

“Oh, Stevie,” I sigh, sitting down in front of him. We’re going to need to change him, and when I feel his forehead, I tut. He didn’t feel hot earlier, and Shep didn’t say anything about him being sick. “What hurts?”

Stevie points to his tummy and lets out a helpless little whimper that breaks my heart. It’s something I can’t take away and I wish I could. 

“Cooky’s all fixed up. Is he—oh, Stevie.” 

Baz strides further into the room with his wand out, and with a spell under his breath, he cleans Stevie up quickly. “Still be a good idea to change him,” he mutters, crouching next to me. He takes the tot into his arms and says, “It’s okay, little puff, you’ll be all right.”

For a moment, I take a seat and lean back on my hands. I know Baz is good with Rosie, but watching him with Stevie—watching him with someone younger….

Merlin, it makes my heart flip-flop in my chest. 

He’s so gentle with Stevie, caressing his back. Kissing the top of the child’s head to soothe him, and he seems to take an immediate liking to Baz. He leans into his neck and whimpers quietly, sayin, “Tummy ow. Tummy… tummy huwt.” 

“Love,” Baz reaches out to me, and I take his hand. “Call Penelope. Just so she knows—are you still all right with watching him?” 

“Of course. I’m fine with it,” I say, pulling my phone from my pocket. I hate that Stevie’s sick, and I wish he wasn’t. It’s sad to see kids hurt, and I lean forward and rub his back, too, as I wait for Penelope to pick up. 

“Hey. Something already the matter?” Penelope asks, and though she sounds a little uncomfortable, she sounds a lot less stressed. I hate being the bearer of bad news….

“Stevie’s sick, Pen. Threw up, and he’s a little warm, too. Nothing terrible, but we wanted to let you know.” 

Penny sighs, and she sounds worried when she says, “Should we come back?”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ve taken care of a sick Rosie before. It’s fine.” 

Stevie turns back to face me and I smile at him. “All right?”

He sniffs, and he says, “Tummy.”

Penny hums. “Are you sure—”

“Of course,” I tell Penny. “This is your weekend off. Let us take care of him.”

Penny doesn’t press further, and once I’m off the phone with her, Baz has sunk to the ground as well and is slowly swaying side to side. 

“Is he okay?” Rosie asks, and when I glance back at her door, I see that she’s peeking her head into the room. “Do you think Shadow will help?” 

Rosie got a papercut the other day and Shadow licked it, so she’s convinced the cat has healing powers because it didn’t hurt afterwards. 

But the offer is sweet and I smile at her. “We can see. Just meet us on the sofa, all right? It’ll be better if Stevie rests there.”

Just as Rosie’s about to take off, she turns back to me and frowns. “Will he be able to dance with me to the violin music?”

“Probably not, sweetie. But we can watch movies.” 

Rosie groans, making her exit. 

That was something she was looking forward to—she wanted to show Stevie some ballet moves she’s learned, and at the baby shower, she tried to tell Penny that he should dance, too. I think she might’ve convinced her. 

“I should probably go and grab some things for him,” Baz sighs, coming to a standstill. He pouts a little, and it almost makes me smile because it’s cute when he has his bottom lip jutted out like that, but we have more pressing matters at hand. He hands Stevie over to me, stands, and holds his hand out to help me up. I take it, and he pulls me up. 

“I think we may have broth, but we’ll need Dioralyte and some medicine.” I rub Stevie’s back and he whines. I’ll need to put him in some different clothes. 

“All right, then.” Baz pulls me in and presses a kiss to my head. “I’ll try to be fast.” 

I follow Baz into the living room, and as he passes through, Rosie asks, “Where are you going, Dr Grimm?”

“Store. I’ll be grabbing a few things to make Stevie feel better.” Baz pulls his wallet from the top of the cubby and sticks it into his pocket. 

“Can I go?” she asks, rushing up to him. She wraps her arms around his waist and lifts her legs so she’s hanging off his side. 

“Students don’t go to the store with teachers,” Baz teases, and Rosie immediately unwraps herself from him. 

I chortle, watching from afar as I gently rock Stevie. He’s starting to fall asleep. I catch a glimpse of his face and his eyes are weighing heavy. 

“How about you help make the sofa comfortable,” Baz suggests upon opening the door. “I’ll be back, all right?” 

Rosie salutes him off, and when he closes the door, she runs back into my room. It nearly scares Shadow—who resides on the middle sofa cushion—half to death. She screams and darts away and out of sight. And that wakes Stevie back up. 

“Tummy,” Stevie whimpers, and I kiss his head. I should change him now.

“Uncle Baz is getting you some tummy medicine, okay? And a tummy drink and soup,” I say, reaching for his nappy bag. “Do you want water?”

  
  
  


**Baz**

Of course, Stevie is sick the first day we get him. He’s throwing up and feverish, and he’ll be out of commission for at least a day, which will take up much of tomorrow as well. 

It’s painful to see a kid so miserable, and the look in poor Stevie’s eyes really claws into your soul. You just want to take the pain away and there’s no good way to do it. Not with stomach bugs, at least. But I will cover him in healing spells as soon as I get back home. 

Even in all of this non-fun of a sick two-year-old, it allows us to explore how Simon and I work together when we have to deal with the unpleasantness of parenthood. It’s certainly been easy peasy so far. We fall into action quickly, and we know what to do. 

(Simon’s the one who’s nervous; I just roll with the punches.) 

But parenting smooths him out, nonetheless. It irons out the wrinkles in his mind because he’s a natural whether he thinks it or not. He knows what he’s doing—he does. 

That much is clear when I walk into the house after picking everything up from the store. 

The three of them—four, including Shadow—are on the sofa, watching something. On one side sits Rosie with the cat in her lap, and on the other, Simon sits back with his feet propped up on the coffee table. Stevie is passed out on his chest, and he seems comfortable with his little fists balling up the fabric of Simon’s shirt. 

Simon seems so in the zone like that, too. He has one hand on the kid’s back and he makes looking after a sick toddler look easy. 

I spend a few more moments admiring the family and finally close the door once I’m snapped out of it. Rosie looks over at me, a smile on her face.

“He’s asleep,” Rosie whisper-yells to me and I give her the thumbs up, which she takes and gives me a thumbs up back. 

Our night is spent like this. A sleeping Stevie, and at some point we have to wake him up to make sure he’s getting fluids and some form of sustenance. He doesn’t throw it up, either, and it might be the effect of my  **_get well soon_ ** , but it’s good news nonetheless. 

After he eats, we change him and get him ready for bed. He doesn’t fight any, which Rosie points out. Apparently he’s a little night owl, but the stomach bug has worn him out. It’s quite tiresome for a little one to fight something like that, but I’m sure he’ll be better in the morning. 

Simon and I put him to bed in Rosie’s room, and when Simon asks if she wants to sleep in the bed with him, she cocks her head. “Can I? So I can make sure he’s okay?” 

“Of course, Princess. We should start getting ready for bed, too.”

By ten, the little ones are down and out, and Simon and I are starting to strip down for bed as well. He sits on the edge of his bed, peeling off his shirt while I’m just about finished drying my hair. 

I catch glimpses of him in the mirror, and his shoulders are rolled forward and he’s staring at the ground. 

Even though I don’t quite know what’s going through his head, I can hope that I can grant him peace of mind. 

So, I put the hair dryer up, adjust my pyjama top, and slink over quietly. 

My arms snake around him, and he sits up straight. But he melts into me rather quickly and I kiss a mole on his neck. He almost shivers. 

“I wish he wasn’t sick today,” Simon mutters, leaning back into me. His head lolls onto my shoulder and he peers up at me with those blue eyes. Despite how unextraordinary they are, they keep me here, looking down at him longingly. 

“Just how life is, sometimes,” I tell him, rocking us gently back and forth. That warrants a smile. “I would say we’re a pretty good team when it comes to taking care of a sick toddler.”

“I mean….” Simon lifts his head and pulls his body away from me, so I fall back onto the mattress. “He slept most of the time—”

“And that’s how kids are. We both know that.” I nudge the small of the back with my foot. “We both acted quickly. We did what we needed to do. And once we had everything we needed, we took care of him.” 

Simon heaves a sigh. I know he’s just being hard on himself, so I nudge him again. My arms are open for him when he turns to glare at me. 

He softens, pulls down the sheets, and crawls into my arms once we’re comfortably under the duvet. His head falls over my heart, and I inhale his curls. They’re getting long—I like the look on him. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve taken care of someone so small.”

“And you’re a natural,” I mutter against the top of his head. “I never thought I’d see someone so sword-wielding-happy be able to be as gentle as you were with Stevie.”

Simon chuckles, and it vibrates against my chest. The feeling fills me with warmth and almost jumpstarts my heart. 

“I just can’t believe you promised Rosie  _ anything _ . A baby… bloody hell.” Simon tilts his chin up so he can look at me, and he’s smiling. I don’t refrain and peck his lips. He mumbles, “She’s not getting one anytime soon,” against mine. 

Certainly not. But in the future. 

It’s nice being able to explore these sorts of things with him, and being able to in the first place. 

“We should watch him next weekend, too,” I suggest, eyes turning towards the ceiling. I think Simon’s starting to slip away because his heartbeat is steadily getting slower. 

“Yeah?” he yawns. 

“If you want to.” 

Simon nods, and he continues to until he falls asleep. 

I don’t right away. I remain staring at the ceiling, not quite believing we’re even doing this.

That we’re watching a kid to see if we’d be compatible parents. 

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be here. But I am. 

I fall asleep and dream about a day where there are several Snow-Pitch-Salisburys dogpiled onto this little bed, absorbing each other’s love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QotC: What do you think the sequel's about? *eye ball emojis here*
> 
> How are y'all doing? I'm just astounded by the fact that there are five chapters left. Like, holy shit. 
> 
> Anyway, see you tomorrow!


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of miscarriage, stillbirth, and cot death (SIDS)

**Simon**

The rest of the weekend went by without incident. It’s almost like Stevie hadn’t been sick at all because the next morning, he and Rosie woke  _ us _ up. The two of them crawled between me and Baz and he almost shot up in surprise. But once he simmered down, he looked like a child on Christmas. He looked like he was in his element.

We had a lot of fun that Sunday. We went out to the park, watched a few movies, and later in the day, Rosie was finally able to teach Stevie some dances. The tot was fascinated with Baz’s violin, and Baz played for him until his fingers started blistering. 

That night, Baz and I laid in bed, both smiling as we lumped together in a cuddle. I rested my head on his chest and he held me there, and when I thought he was asleep, he asked, “Would you want to watch him next weekend?”

That spiralled into us watching Stevie for the next few weekends, and with each that passed, we got more comfortable taking care of a toddler together. (Not that the first weekend was hard, we just needed to dip our toes in the water.) 

And now that Stevie knows us better, and  _ adores _ Baz, it makes things easier. 

Especially when I arrive at the Bunces to pick him up. 

Penny’s in labour, and she trusts us to watch over him while she’s giving birth. 

I got the call in the middle of the day—I was still at work. She wanted me to watch over him since I’m closer to the house and her mum and dad will be with her (her father in another room, but in the house nonetheless). So, I closed early and headed over there. 

Baz doesn’t know yet, but I’ll text him when we go home.

Shepard opens the door after I knock and he lets me in without a word. He looks  _ very _ stressed, which doesn’t surprise me. He won’t faint or anything, but he looks woozy. 

“Where is she?” I ask him, even though I know she’s in their room. As I pass through the living room, I notice Stevie’s slouched back on the sofa, watching  _ Teletubbies _ . When he sees me, he grins and runs over to me like he hasn’t seen me in months. I swoop down to pick him up. 

“Unco Si! I watch. I watch,” he tells me, pointing to the telly screen and I catch a glimpse of red and yellow in my peripheral. 

“Well, I’m going to be stealing you for the next couple of hours and we can watch it at my house. How does that sound?” 

Stevie claps his little hands and nuzzles his face into my neck, so I seize the opportunity to kiss his curls. He’s so cute. 

But I do have to put him down. I want to see Penny and I know the parents don't want Stevie to see her in pain. Hence, why we’re heading back to my place. 

“I’m going to go visit your mummy for a minute, and then we can go. All right?” I ask, and when he sits back on the sofa, I know he doesn’t mind. 

He does a lot of things wordlessly unless we put a book in front of him. He reads his little cardboard books aloud and can write his name. 

I don’t know how Penny did it, but I have a feeling he’ll be in GT as well. 

Like I thought, Penny is in the bedroom, eyes closed as she lays on her bed. She looks entirely uncomfortable, and I lend her one of my hands. She grips on it, and I almost regret doing so because she squeezes so hard, I’m surprised she doesn’t break my hand. 

“Write it down, Shep,” Penny huffs, her eyes opening and when she sees me, she scootches up the pillows up a bit. Shepard’s in the corner, writing down the times between her contractions. 

“You’re getting close. Like. I think I should call the midwife now. How’s your breathing?” Shep asks. 

Penny doesn’t answer right away because she’s looking at our hands, and then fixes her gaze on me. My thumb brushes over her ring and I stare into her eyes. She’s determined, but I can still tell she’s in pain. 

“Call the midwife,” she tells him without answering the question. 

“Did your water break yet?” My hand finds its way to her hair. I push a few curls out of her eyes. 

“No,” she huffs, resting her hand on the side of her belly. “But this baby’s coming out soon—and thank you for taking care of Stevie. It’s made things so much easier.” 

“Of course—are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” I ask. I was at the house when Stevie was born—Rosie was asleep on my chest the whole time. It feels weird not being at least  _ here _ .

“It’s all right, Si.” She cups my cheek and smiles at me—she’s dead tired already. “But I’ll have Shep call you as soon as the baby’s here. Okay?”

I place my hand on top of hers and gently peel it from my face. “All right. Is there anything else you need?” 

Penny shakes her head. “No. Just—I love you, Si.” 

I smile and kiss her knuckles. “I love you, too.” 

Stevie and I take off after grabbing all of the things he needs, and while I’m driving home, he asks, “Mummy huwt?” 

I glance at him in the mirror and smile. He’s such a perfect blend of his parents, but sometimes the Penny flares up in him. He’s giving me an inquisitive look that mirrors one she’s given me before. 

“Mummy’s having her baby,” I tell him. “You’re going to be a big brother.” 

Stevie nods and turns his head towards one of the windows. “Oh. Baby.”

The conversation ceases and he’s asleep by the time we get home. 

Rosie’s bed has become just as much as Stevie’s at this point because last weekend, we installed a rail on the side of it—a detachable one. We left it on for convenience, though, so once I’m sure he’s comfortable on the bed, I turn on the baby monitor (Baz insisted) and grab its portable counterpart from beside it.

I collapse on the sofa when I reach it and pull out my phone. Though it is a phone-call worthy announcement, it’s nearing the end of the day. I don’t want to interrupt anything and it’s not like he’s going to barrel over with Rosie—he can’t. He still has the afterschool programme. But I want him to know. 

I text him instead.  **Pen’s in labour. I’m home with Stevie. I’ll let you know when she gives birth if you’re still at school .Xx**

He texts back before I can get comfortable and pull up the cooking channel.  **If you pick up Rosie, I can tell the Afterschool Programme volunteers that I have a family emergency.**

Baz is still sneaking around our relationship, but his interview is next week. Once he gets the position, he’ll tell the headmaster. 

I think Baz may worry that I think he’s hiding our relationship, but at the end of the day, he’s just securing a job before he admits to partaking in a taboo relationship. He doesn’t hide us in any way otherwise. 

Eventually, I text him back.  **All right then. I’ll see you soon .Xx**

And within the hour, Stevie and I are waiting for Rosie. 

**Baz**

Rosie shows up to the programme like she usually does, and she sits in the spot she has claimed. 

Simon texted me that Bunce is having the baby anytime now, and because I don’t want to miss a moment with my family—plus Stevie loves me—Simon’s come to pick Rosie up early. 

She doesn’t know this, though, and I forgot to tell her before she walked in. So before she can open her backpack and pull out her homework for the day, I walk over and tap her desk. 

I sink down to her eye height. “Your daddy’s here. Your aunt’s having the baby.”

Rosie’s eyes grow wide and a smile cracks up on her face. She practically throws herself into my arms and yells, “Yay!”

The room goes silent, and when I look around, a few of the volunteer teachers give the two of us a look. The students throw intrigued glances our way. 

But Rosie doesn’t take account of this. She tugs herself away from me and begins packing. 

And now is my time to pack as well. But I need to inform the teachers first. 

Upon standing, I fix my shirt. It’s twisted up a bit, and once I’ve tugged at my cuffs, I approach the women. Both give me a once over and I cross my arms. “Are one of you willing to stay with the last kid? I have a family emergency.” 

They share a look, like they know something. And the look makes my mouth dry.  _ What _ do they know? 

“Is it related to Rosie’s leaving early?” the music teacher asks. “Why is she leaving early?” 

There’s really no reason to lie here, is there? Not on Rosie’s behalf, at least. So I stand a little taller and give her a droll eyebrow raise. “Her aunt is having a baby and her father’s here. I know her family. And no. It’s family-related and that’s all you need to know. Now, can you or can you not help out?”

The music teacher can, and I leave after she says it. I don’t want to deal with their bullshit right now. 

They used to not be like this. Merlin, one of them used to let me shadow her when the GT teacher had nothing for me to do with the kids. 

Do they know? Is this—am I just fueling conspiracy theories?

It doesn’t matter as soon as I get home. As soon as I put my wallet on top of the cubby and crouch down so I can take an excited Stevie into my arms. 

It’s heartwarming seeing him so excited. 

Family interactions like this make me forget my issues in the first place. I don’t think about how those women might be in on my secret, but even then, what do they know?

Stevie’s hug is nice and warm. 

_ Maybe I should stop caring.  _

Simon insists that I get comfortable from the sofa. 

_ They don’t know my family. _

Rosie asks me if I can play my violin.

_ They don’t know what they mean to me.  _

All of the stress of work sheds off like the clothes I’m wearing is another skin, and in a way, they can be. Though I do like button-downs and suspenders and nice trousers, I’ve also found inspiration in stealing Simon’s tees and styling them to be comfortable and fashionable. I do that now and allow my hair to fall from its elastic. 

Let my hair down. Get cosy. Enjoy myself and my family life. I need it right now. 

We’re going to see a baby later and I don’t want my stress to pollute the Bunce household. 

_ Breathe _ .

I do. And then I meet my family. 

  
  


Simon gets the call while I’m playing some plucky song on the violin. It’s something Rosie’s practising for in her classes and she wanted to dance to it at home, so I found the sheet music online and learned it by heart. But my playing and her dancing are interrupted when Simon stands up from the sofa with his phone ringing in his hands. 

“It’s Shepard!” he lets us know, then answers. 

Rosie’s still spinning Stevie around in a circle, but I put my violin away and come up behind Simon, taking him in my arms. My chin sits on his shoulder and I tilt my head just enough to hear Shepard. 

“Little girl—she’s beautiful, Si. And Penny’s doing great. She took it like a champ, but she’s resting now. She’s beautiful. You should come in. Florence Mitali.” That’s all I can hear, but Simon’s grinning from ear to ear and I can’t help but squeeze him a little. He places a hand on top of mine and smiles at me.

“Florence. That’s lovely. We can come now?” Simon almost looks drunk in happiness, absolutely filled to the brim with it. Taking care of Stevie’s made him especially soft, and so as soon as he hangs up, he turns to me.

He looks over the moon and high on joy. It’s almost like he’s the father, but of course, he isn’t. 

“Are you ready to go see a baby?” he asks me softly, and I untangle my arms from his body so I can hold his hand. 

He squeezes mine. 

Rosie’s stopped hopping about with Stevie, but she’s taken to trying to pick him up. He’s a little heavy for her, though, and she stops trying. 

Simon and I share a curious look before turning back to them. 

“I’m trying to help,” Rosie lets us know. “I wanted to carry Stevie to the car.”

Stevie doesn’t look like he’d consented to this because he stomps. “I walk!”

“But you’re a baby!” Rosie rebukes, crossing her arms over her chest. 

This is amusing, but it’s something I never thought I would witness. Well, maybe eventually when Simon and I decide to have more kids, but not now with her little cousin. 

“I am not baby!” Stevie stomps again and just about goes to charge her, but I finally swoop in and pick the boy up. 

Now, he’s looking at me with big, tear-filled eyes and his bottom lip juts out and trembles. 

Merlin, he’s adorable. 

“Chin up, little puff. Are you ready to see your sister?” 

Stevie buries his face into my neck, nodding. 

“All right then,” Simon says, tossing the nappy bag over his shoulder. He has a large smile on his face and he’s certainly more than ready to go. He’s the first one to walk out the door and the rest of us follow behind. 

(I allow Stevie to make his way to the car on foot; he felt it was important.)

While Simon drives, I just watch him curiously. There’s this spark in his eye I don’t quite recognise. This zing in him. His shoulders are rolled back, and he’s well alert of everything that’s going on around him. He’s stopped smiling, but because he’s suppressing it. He keeps trying to hide it with a neutral expression. But he can’t. 

He’s on cloud nine. 

I watch Simon Snow zip up to the Bunces’ front door without even acknowledging us and I can almost hear him thinking  _ baby, baby, baby _ with every step he takes. 

Rosie doesn’t quite know what to think of it. “Why’s he so excited?” 

That’s an answer I don’t have. Not a comprehensive one. “He likes babies,” seems to tide Rosie over, but I want to know, too. 

_ What’s going through your head, Simon Snow? _

  
  


**Simon**

Florence weighs nothing in my arms. Her little hand wraps around my index finger and her skin feels like silk. She has yet to look at me, but I know she has beautiful eyes and her lashes flutter across her cheeks. It’s no surprise that she has an abundance of hair and Merlin, she is a dream.

Shepard let me hold her as soon as I walked into the room. Penny’s sleeping on the bed and her mother’s making dinner. Martin went back to his house, preparing space for Stevie so Penny and Shepard can be alone with the baby for the first few nights. The rest of my posse is most likely in the living room. 

But I wanted to hold her. 

“I can’t believe how small she is,” I tell Shepard quietly, and he’s staring at the baby like he’s fallen in love. He’s all doe-eyed and very hover-y. This is also his newborn infant, so I understand. 

“Do you want to take her back?” I ask him just in case, and when he realises he’s as close to me as he is, he takes a few steps back. 

“Sorry.” 

We’re interrupted by a faint knock and Baz peering his head into the room, and when his eyes fall on me, it’s like time stops. 

  
  


**Baz**

I stare at Simon, and I see into the future. The moment around us freezes and it’s like we’re on centre stage, spotlight on us. Focus in on him and the baby in his arms. 

A soliloquy runs through my mind, thousands of words proclaiming my innermost thoughts. 

_ Simon Snow stands before me with those eyes boring into my very soul. A gentle giant, clinging to the very essence of life—a baby. A little one who has just taken her first breath minutes before. And there he is, the man I love, holding her. This is my future. The life I want. And I see it so clearly. _

And in that future, I would join him and stare into the eyes of our child. Singing songs of promises to make the world right for them. 

It’s in the future, this moment, but I can certainly enjoy him holding a baby now. So I smile at him. The moment fades, and I’m back to reality. I’m with him and making my way over to approach the baby. She’s beautiful; Penelope and Shepard did well with their children. 

The three of us stay at the Bunce’s for about an hour. Enough time for all of us to hold Florence, and I make sure to cast little blessings on her. 

Rosie’s in love with her instantly and she spends the most time holding her. She talks to Florence and lets her know who everyone in the room is. 

I could tell Simon was daydreaming while she held the baby. His eyes were clouded and there was this smile on his face. But as time passed those clouds in his eyes...they went from white and fluffy to stormy and brewing. 

They’re like that the entire drive home, and they don’t cease, even when he parks. He sits at the wheel for a moment, but he says nothing and sighs. 

I can’t quite tell if it’s a sigh of relief or if it’s because he’s stressed. 

I carry Rosie inside, Simon following behind like a zombie. He’s slow and searching, like he’s got lost in his head and can’t quite make his way out. So when he’s in my reach, I place my hand on his back and help him in. I close the door behind him, and the sound seems to snap it out of him. 

But now, he looks like he’s determined about something. 

He’ll tell me later, but for now, he takes Rosie from my arms and slips into her bedroom. 

I linger behind, haunting her doorframe rather than wandering in. It’s nice to step back and enjoy the moment rather than being a part of it, sometimes, and in this instance, I get to watch Simon. 

Although he’s usually gentle with her, he’s extra careful today. He slips her into a nightgown, careful not to wake her up, and when he tucks her in, it’s like he’s tucking in a cloud. Feathery soft. 

Not too much pressure nor heavy-handed. He’s afraid she’ll blow away if he does. 

The sight of me nearly startles him—I don’t think he expected me to be standing there like that, but now that I am, he takes it and pulls my arm around his neck. 

I close the door and try to walk into the living room, but he anchors me to the floor of the hallway. 

His face is stoic, and that gaze rock hard. I want to ask what he’s thinking, but before I can, he says, “I want to show you something.”

And he parts from me so he can approach a door. 

_ The _ door.

I’ve always wondered what was behind it, but I was never curious enough to attempt to break my way in. (Additionally, I would never do that. I respect his boundaries.) Rosie made it such a mystery, and then she never mentioned it again; now, I’ll get to know. 

(Does she know?)

Simon reaches up to the lip of the door frame and runs his hand along it until he finds a dusty key. And when he holds it in front of his face, thunder rumbles and those clouds in his eyes grow darker. 

He tries to dismiss whatever he’s feeling. He shakes his head side to side like it would help, but the tears form in his eyes anyway and he decides to ignore it and unlocks the door. 

With the turn of a doorknob, he pushes the door open. 

The room’s no longer a mystery, and it’s like Simon has allowed me to step into the very archives of his mind. 

I step in first, and when I look around, my heart drops. Moonlight spills through a slit in the curtains, but when I try to turn on the lights, I can’t. There’s no lightbulb.

The room looks like it’s been lost in time. Everything is covered in dust, and just walking through the room stirs some up; I sneeze. But I walk around, look around, and allow my heart to sink further and further. 

At least, until there are tears in my own eyes. 

Simon hasn’t walked in. He’s not looking.

The room—this room I’m standing in—is a nursery. A nursery that looks like it was ready for a baby. 

Did Agatha have a miscarriage? A stillbirth? Was Simon a father to a second child they had to bury days after they were born? Simon never told me this, but he is now, and my heart is broken for him. 

But as I look around a little more, I notice other things on the ground. I take another step and something crunches under my shoe. 

A framed picture of Agatha and Rosie. 

Now that I get another look, Agatha’s things—clothes, pictures, items—are all over the ground. 

This is a snapshot of the life Simon had before me—before or just a bit after Agatha left. This room was left in the past and never came along with them. And it’s filled with his regrets—Agatha, and not being able to have another baby. 

A room of pain. 

A torture chamber. 

“Simon….”

He closes the door behind him and stares at me through teary, bloodshot eyes. 

“I haven’t been in here for a few years,” Simon rasps, looking around. I can see him slipping, I can see the hurt splitting him up. 

I walk across the room and take him into my arms. He buries his face into my chest, and I pull him closer to me. 

“Did… did she have a…?”

“No… no,” Simon sniffs and lifts his head so he can get another look. “But we were planning for one and she got me so excited. We got out Rosie’s old clothes, started buying nappies and wipes… the crib’s up… and then she said she didn’t want another kid. She just… stopped. And when she left, I… I don’t know….”

Simon pulls away from me and begins to walk around himself, shuffling amongst the ripped pictures and broken glass. “I don’t know why I did it, but I finished the room. I thought that maybe it would bring me closure… but….”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” I tell him quietly, but he shakes his head. 

“I still don’t understand why she would leave us, but….” Simon stands up a little straighter and lifts his head. “I’m glad she did because you wouldn’t be here.” 

That warms my heart a bit, but I’m still confused. 

“Why are you showing me this?”

Simon walks over to me and takes my hands in his. He gives them a squeeze before parting ways again. It’s like he wants to get one last look at the room. 

“This… this room and these regrets. They’re the last thing holding me back. I’m better at not dwelling, but… but I think if I get rid of this room, just completely gut it, then I’ll be able to run with you, not limp behind.” 

I get another look of the room. It’s beautiful—well decorated, and there’s so much time and effort put into the decoration. “The entire room? We can take Agatha’s things and toss them, but I thought you wanted another baby. You were so happy earlier.” 

Simon’s eyes get soft for a minute and he approaches me. 

The closer he gets, the harder his gaze becomes, but I know it’s not directed at me, at least. 

“I do, but I don’t want this for them.” He gives the room one more look, and it’s filled with disgust. “I don’t want them to room in the painful past. I don’t want them to live in a place of regrets and bitterness. Merlin, I want more kids. I  _ really _ want one, but it’s too soon, you know?”

“I do,” I tell him, running a hand through his hair and to the back of his head. I tug him in and kiss his forehead. “What do you think we should do, then?”

Simon closes his eyes. “Carry on. Put a pin in the discussion of more children until we’re at least a few months further into our relationship and donate everything but the clothes. Those are still Rosie’s.”

“That sounds like a plan,” I tell him, and he smiles, but it’s tired. So I feel the need to ask, “Do you want me to stay the night?” 

He pulls me into a quick kiss, and then he departs from the room, saying, “Don’t ask me that and come to bed with me, Basilton.”

And so, I follow him into his room. 

We don’t touch the room again until Saturday. 

We strip everything from it then, and Simon gives Rosie the opportunity to create an office out of the new space once it’s completely empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, only 4 more chapters... 
> 
> Can you believe it? 
> 
> Also not to toot my own horn, but I'm surprised I got 100,000+ words out in 46-ish days like what.
> 
> ALSO ALSO now you know what's behind the door! I mean, I think most of you knew, but...well. 
> 
> ya know. 
> 
> QotC: Have you picked up on any motifs or similar themes? They're in here, I really did think this out I promise. 
> 
> See you tomorrow!


	42. Chapter 42

**Baz**

“Come here.” 

I sit at the edge of Simon’s bed, trying to keep myself calm as I think about the day before me. 

Honestly, the interview shouldn’t make me as nervous as I feel, but it does. I know I most likely won’t get the job anyway—but what if?  _ What if? _

It’s an amazing opportunity and I am blessed to even be in the position of being considered, but is it even worth it? I won’t be able to work with children anymore. I won’t be able to help them expand into the people they’re destined to be. 

That’s why I started teaching in the first place, and though I can take action at the top, find resources to expand and more adequately use the school’s budget, I won’t be able to work one-on-one with these kids. 

Is it worth it?

I try not to sink too deep in these thoughts, but as I sit here, I can’t help it. Even as Simon beckons for me again. 

This time, he sits next to me and takes my hand. “I think your nerves are getting the best of you.”

“Are you sure of that?” I ask him sarcastically. He casts a look upon me and pulls me under his arm. 

I spent the night with him last night. I was going to go home after dropping Rosie off from the afterschool programme, but Simon could tell something wasn’t right. He could tell that I was getting broody and he didn’t want to leave me alone, so he convinced me to spend time with him and Rosie instead of stuffing my nose in the employee handbook for one last time. 

It helped. It always helps. But now?

Simon stands, and he pulls me up with him. He looks determined as when he cups the back of my neck and gives me a look. “Get yourself together. I’ll wake Rosie and make you breakfast. Okay? Just… just try to collect yourself.” 

Although I don’t need Simon Snow telling me how to compose my emotions—I know how to do so myself, I’ve been doing it for years—it’s nice to know he’s in my corner. That he’s running along the sidelines, cheering my name. And that he’ll be right there if I get hurt. 

I bump my forehead against his and kiss him. It doesn’t last too long, and I mutter, “Thank you,” as he pulls away and makes his way for the kitchen. 

I’m already dressed for the day, so the matter of “composing myself” comes down to straightening myself out. Spelling my hair silky, “wearing contacts,” making sure my floral suit is properly pressed and that the cufflinks I’m wearing are polished. I can already hear my older kids ask why I’m dressed to the nines. 

I haven’t told them what I’m doing, just because I don’t want to let them down if I don’t have to. 

But once I’m composed, once I’m collected, once I don’t look frazzled whatsoever, I’m good to go. I look professional. I  _ look _ like I could be a headmaster. 

“You look like a headmaster already.” Simon speaks my thoughts the moment I sit down at the table with them. He didn’t try to make anything today—just warmed up some scones he’d made over the weekend.

“Do I?” I ask him with a smirk. Simon blushes, and now that my job’s done, I glance at Rosie. 

She’s falling asleep over her scones—she keeps nodding off and if she doesn’t start eating, she may as well fall face-first into butter and pastry. 

I gently nudge her, and she shoots up. And when she looks me over, she gasps. “You look so handsome!”

Although Rosie’s complimented me before—several times—it still warms my heart. Something about children’s compliments, and that it’s coming from my daughter. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. Guess what?” 

“Hmm?” Rosie’s starting to eat now and takes the liberty of dolloping another slab of butter onto her scone. 

“You’re so close to winning the game.” 

Rosie’s eyes light up. “The baby game?” 

Simon and I glance at each other—we’ve come up with a plan. We’re going to get her a baby doll until we’re ready. (We certainly aren’t right now.) 

“Kind of,” Simon answers for me so I can actually eat. “But you can start acting like Baz is your dad at school in a few days.” 

I think Rosie’s more interested in the baby aspect. Though she still keeps it up at school, her method acting has started to dissolve at home. She doesn’t pull the “Dr Grimm, can teachers….” thing anymore. That looks more suspect than anything else, so I’m glad.

We finish breakfast soon after, and then it’s time to go. Simon hands Rosie her lunchbox, and just before I can walk out of the door, he catches me by the waist and pulls me in. 

“Hey,” I say with a smile on my face and take in his morning time beauty. He’s brushed his teeth and wiped the sleep out of his eyes, but he still needs to shower and get ready for the day. 

“You’ll do great, all right? Don’t doubt yourself, and if you don’t get the job, they’re missing out. You’d be a great headmaster.” Simon bucks my chin and kisses me before I go. 

That was the pep talk I needed, and when we arrive at school, I’m ready to go. 

Rather than going to my conference period this morning, I have to meet the board. They were rather accommodating, coming to meet me in an administrative office on campus rather than the other way around, but one thing I notice is that the group is entirely made of old white men. 

Interesting dynamic… do I really even have a chance at this position? I’m incredibly young and some of these people look like they could keel over on the table. I’ve only professionally taught for two years. And I think my walking in is almost a joke to everyone but the headmaster. He looks ready to get down to business, but there’s also something about him that makes me feel unnerved. 

But I take a page from Simon’s book and try not to think about it as I sit down. 

The interview itself is easy, and the ethical questions I answer gain nods from the higher-ups. They like the vision I have for being headmaster. The practice interviews and constant revising seems to have paid off, and I walk out of the interview feeling confident. 

Since I was the last person to be interviewed, I’ll find out by the end of the school day. And though I don’t  _ need _ to have the position, I would be surprised if I didn’t get it by the way they made me feel. 

Maybe they wanted someone young to take the headmaster’s position. I’m a few decades closer to understanding the little ones more easily. 

I ride atop a cloud through the period after the interview, and when the last of the older children are making their way back to their classroom, Rosie runs against the grain of them and into my legs. 

This snaps me back into some sense of normalcy. 

“Rosie, you just broke two rules,” I tell her, stooping down to her level. She gives me a look, then rolls her eyes and throws her arms around me. 

“I just wanted to see if you got the job,” she tells me softly, and it makes me loosen up a bit. 

“I won’t know until later, sweetheart. But please don’t risk getting in trouble for me.” I give her a little squeeze and stand. 

She follows me into the classroom, and when I sit on the edge of my desk, she comes up so close she’s almost standing between my legs. 

Is there something else? 

“You should go back and use the loo,” I tell her and she shakes her head. “Rosie.” 

“Why?” she groans. “I wanna be in here with you.” 

I sigh and lean forward. I think she may think that I’ve already talked to the headmaster. 

“That’s not very good method acting,” I tell her, and this gets her back in shape. Her eyes widen, and she looks around like she doesn’t know where she is. And then, she winks at me and starts to run out of the room, but I remind her. “ _ Walk _ , Salisbury.”

And that seems to do it for the class period. 

Rosie’s acting her normal self. Sitting next to my desk, asking her normal questions. And at some point, she “schedules an interview” with me. For extra points, kids are allowed to interview the public servant they’re doing the project over for information, and she’s determined to talk about teachers. 

The rest of the day seems to float by, and when I’m just about to pack up my classroom for the day, I give my email one more look.

A new email, and it’s from the board. 

I take a deep breath and exhale. My cursor hovers over it, but I can’t—I  _ can _ —click on it. It’s idiotic, being so nervous because I would be fine with either getting or not getting the job. It comes down to notoriety versus one-on-one work with the children, so, what’s got me held up?

Instead of thinking on it further, I click it and sigh. 

Not that hard, now is it? 

Now that the email is open, I read over it. 

I didn’t get the job. 

I’m left floundering in confusion. The board  _ really _ liked me. They thought I was, and I quote, “brilliant.” 

But I quickly make peace with it. I’ll still be working with my kids. I tut under my breath, but once I turn off the computer, I’m over it. 

Oh, well. 

Much like earlier, Rosie runs up to me once I walk into the room where we’re holding the afterschool programme, and I crouch down, not giving much of a shit that anyone else will see us. I’m going to tell the headmaster tomorrow. What do a few hours matter?

“Did you get it?” she asks when I catch her in my arms, and when I send her a sad smile and shake my head, she frowns. “I think that they’re wrong. You would be the best headmaster.” 

“Thank you, sweetie. But it’s fine. At least I get to teach you another year,” I tell her with a smile, and she wraps her arms around my neck. 

While we hug, one of the teachers looks down at me in alarm, and I almost snap at her, saying teachers are allowed to hug students if the student initiates it and to mind her own business, but I settle with a glare and give her a final squeeze before standing. 

“Can you help me with my maths?” Rosie asks, crossing the room and as I follow behind, I notice all of the volunteer teachers are looking at me like they’re either trying to figure something out or confirming their suspicions. 

I decide not to feed into it since I’m talking to the headmaster tomorrow, and I sit in the desk in front of her. I’ll help her with her maths and with anything else she needs help with. 

Close everything else out and focus on Rosie. That’s my job when it comes down to it, after all. 

She’s all that should’ve mattered in the first place.

The evening is spent like this, but I do help the other children as well if they need it, and once Rosie’s the last child in the room, the music teacher approaches me. 

“You can leave, Basil. I’ve got her.”

The look she’s giving me is damning and I don’t quite know what to make of it, so I narrow my eyes. 

“I’ll stay,” I insist a bit harshly, and instead of saying anything, she yanks me into the hallway by the arm. 

She sticks me to the spot with her glare, and I cross my arms to show her that I’m nonchalant about the situation, because I am. 

“What are you doing, Basil?” she almost hisses. “What—what is that? With Rosie?” She waves her hand at the door and she’s inching closer. “There are boundaries put in place for a reason and you cross them without even caring!”

With how loud she is, I’m surprised Rosie isn’t running up to the door. 

But the music teacher continues, “This is entirely inappropriate! You are her teacher, not her parent—”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I finally say, steel in my voice. It’s cool enough to freeze her out, and her eyes are large and round with surprise. “I’m taking care of her with her father. She calls me Dad, and I go and tuck her in every night, for the most part. But the trivial details are none of your concern. I’m glad that you’re worried, but—”

“No buts, Basilton!” she croaks. “Why are you sneaking around like you are?!”

“Because, Rebecca,” I seethe, “parent-teacher relationships are looked down upon, and so are same-sex relationships, even in this year of two thousand twenty-six. Not to mention, I wanted to get the position of headmaster before I came out with it!  _ Any more questions? _ ”

Rebecca looks me over like she doesn’t want to believe me, but does nonetheless. “You look suspicious.”

“And that’s why I’m telling Dr Andrews tomorrow,” I sneer. “Now, for the love of all things holy, go home. I want to take my  _ daughter _ home.” 

She shakes her head and walks past me through the door. She leaves without a word, and when I walk into the room myself, Rosie looks at me in concern. Her little brows nearly meet in the middle. “I heard my name. Did I do something?” 

No one’s here to judge me or what I do with my daughter, so I pick her up from where she’s sitting and prop her on my hip. She stares at me with inquisitive eyes, filled with worry. 

“You did nothing, Princess. But what I did won’t matter tomorrow, all right?” 

She searches for any faults in what I tell her by reading my face, my eyes, my stance. But I mean it. It  _ won’t _ matter. This is my family, and the school will know as soon as the doors open tomorrow. 

  
  


Simon’s waiting at the door for me, but when I look at him, I think he already knows. That happy grin on his face fades, and his shoulders roll forward. 

I sit Rosie down so she can kick off her shoes and get comfortable—she insisted on me carrying her to the door—and Simon seizes the opportunity to step closer to me. He takes my hand. “Hey.” 

“It’s fine,” I tell him genuinely, leaning in to kiss his forehead. 

“But you wanted it,” he tries to half-heartedly argue. 

“I’d rather work one-on-one with the kids, anyway. It’s fine.” I tuck a knuckle under his chin and tilt it upward. “Don’t worry, okay?”

Simon pouts a little, and Merlin it’s cute. I give his lips a quick peck. “Can I stay the night?” 

“Of course,” Simon says, and then the look on his face changes. It’s not as soft and he gives me an awkward grin. “I—uh. I made a cake for you. I just finished frosting it, and….”

“Show me.”

Simon takes me into the kitchen and shows me the cake that reads, “ _ Congratulations Headmaster! _ ”

“It’s beautiful,” I tell him, “but….”

He wipes off the word “ _ Headmaster _ ” with his thumb and licks it. 

“What do you want it to say instead?” Simon already has the piping bag in his hands. 

“‘ _ GT teacher _ ’ is all right.” I lean against the counter and watch his hands. His handwriting used to be atrocious, but his cake calligraphy is beautiful. 

But… even that doesn’t feel quite right. GT Teacher. I’ve been one for essentially years (professionally, two). 

I became something else this year, though, and it’s something I would never trade for anything, even a headmaster’s position. 

(I should’ve realised this sooner—I should’ve told the headmaster sooner.)

“Actually—”

“Oh.” Simon has just finished the last  _ r _ . “What do you want me to change?” 

I lick the frosting from my finger this time.

“What about… is  _ ‘Father’ _ okay?” 

Simon’s eyes soften, and that worried glance gets warm and mushy. 

We eat the cake as a family after dinner, celebrating how I should be at home with them every night and not in an office isolated from this not-so-perfect, but oh-so-beautiful life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HMMMMMM mischief is afoot. 
> 
> Three chapters left. 
> 
> I'm writing the epilogue today :,)
> 
> How are y'all feeling?
> 
> QotC: What do you think will happen next chapter? 
> 
> A lot could happen, honestly. I'm just curious what y'all think. 
> 
> Have a good day!! I'll see you tomorrow!


	43. Chapter 43

**Baz**

It happens right before Rosie’s class is supposed to come in. I’m in the middle of checking one of my student’s essays, and just before I finish, there’s a knock on my door. 

The headmaster stands there, along with the music teacher. I stare at them like I have no idea what is about to happen, but there are three things I know by just the way they look at me.

  1. Rebecca told Dr Andrews.
  2. Dr Andrews knows.
  3. Dr Andrews has known for a while, and I certainly wouldn’t be surprised if that affected my potential position as a headmaster. 



“Are you able to come down to my office? There’s a brief emergency I need to discuss with you,” he says like it’s not about me, and though I appreciate not making it a bigger issue than it is in that sense, was this not a matter we could discuss at my break? I tried to reach him earlier, but he was nowhere to be seen.

I know not to raise hell, though. I stand quietly, and the kids watch me as I cross the room like I’m taking my final steps to the guillotine. (That might be a bit dramatic, but their eyes follow me out the door nonetheless.) 

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” the music teacher offers with a sticky sweetness in her voice. If I had a little less tact, I would glare at her, but it feels much more satisfying passing her without a single glance. It almost makes me smile when she growls under her breath. 

The last person who deserves a reaction is her. 

I walk side by side with the headmaster, and when he opens the door for me, I give him a curt nod and wait for him to walk in and take a seat before I do. 

Sitting in his chair, he steeples his fingers and gives me a look that makes  _ me _ feel like I’m in the headmaster’s office.

(I mean, I am, but he makes me feel like I’m in trouble—I guess I am, actually, but I certainly don’t like the feeling.)

Instead of breaking down under his harsh stare, I straighten my posture and fold my hands in my lap. “I was looking for you earlier, sir. I meant to tell you something the moment I came in and—”

Dr Andrews holds his hand up and I close my mouth. He stares at me with disappointment.

“Basilton, I have been notified of some concerning information regarding the relationship you have with your student, Rosie Salisbury.” The man takes off his glasses and shakes his head before looking back at me. “Would you mind explaining to me why you sneak around, make accommodations for, and show favouritism toward this student?”

Thinking back on how I interacted with Rosie, especially these last few weeks, I understand how it seemed rather sneaky, and frankly, suspicious. Especially with those little comments Rosie would make. But I don’t allow the regret of how I specifically handled that reflect in my manner. I look at him like he’s asked me what I think of the weather. 

“That was actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” I tell him, crossing my legs. “I will admit that I should have told you sooner, but I wanted to preserve it for after I either did or didn’t get the headmaster’s position. Looking back, I shouldn’t have because this is something I don’t want to hide, so I will tell you now. I’m dating her father, and I see Rosie as a daughter.” 

The look on the headmaster’s face melts away into something sympathetic. He lets out a sigh and turns towards his computer, and for a few minutes, he says nothing and types. After he zones in on something, he takes his work phone, types in a number, and presses the speaker button. 

“Hello?” Simon asks, concerned. “Did—is Rosie all right?” 

“Yes, Sir,” the headmaster says, giving me a glance before looking back at the phone. “Rosie is fine, but I did have a question about her Gifted and Talented teacher, Basilton Grimm.” 

“Oh?” I can see Simon stepping back into the bakery kitchen in my mind’s eye. “Is something the matter with him?”

“Nothing, specifically. But I was wondering what your relationship to him was,” the headmaster mumbles, twirling his moustache between his fingertips. 

He casts me a look that makes my insides shrivel, and a lick of anger flickers in my heart. It’s like he’s expecting Simon to speak against me. 

“He’s my boyfriend. Why?” Simon asks, confused. “Why should it matter?” 

Dr Andrews huffs. “All right, then. Thank you.”

“Why does it matter?” Simon asks again, clearly not happy on how the headmaster is handling this. I’m not, either, but while I remain steely, Simon is becoming fiery. 

“It’s against code of conduct—”

“That’s a lie,” Simon says, which makes my jaw drop. Is he  _ actually _ fighting the headmaster? 

I don’t think Dr Andrews believes it either because he gives the phone a surprised look before he responds. “There are policies explicitly prohibiting any outside association with students—”

“ _ Yeah _ ,” Simon says. “ _ Students _ . I’m not a student.” 

“You’re not,” the headmaster agrees, and I think he’s sweating. “But there are still boundaries being crossed at the same time because your daughter  _ is _ . From what I understand, Baz takes her home—”

“Because I allow him to! I’ve known him for years, so can’t there be an exception?” Simon snaps back. As much as I want to see my boyfriend take the upper hand in this argument, I also hope he calms himself. I don’t want him to blow a gasket. “I can sign a paper if need be, but Baz’s association with me should  _ not _ interfere with his job. How is this affecting  _ any _ other student? How is it affecting any staff or faculty member? Is it an inconvenience?”

“It’s policy,” Dr Andrews mumbles feebly, but I can tell he wants to appease the angry parent. 

Maybe Simon’s brilliant for pulling that card. A smile sneaks onto my lips. 

“Who reported this? Parents? Teachers?” Simon asks.

“A teacher,” Andrews mutters. 

“One?”

The headmaster sighs. “Two.”

“So, the parents don’t know—”

“It’s still policy!”

“Okay, but I am  _ willing  _ to sign paperwork,” Simon growls. “I  _ asked _ Baz for the help! If it was the other way around, if it was  _ him _ asking  _ her _ , then I would understand.  _ That _ could be weird, but I asked him to come into my home. I asked him to take care of my daughter, and I asked him to be my boyfriend. Did I mention that we’ve known each other for over seventeen years? If I need to sign a goddamn paper, tell me. But do  _ not _ give him a strike for feeding into my advances.”

The fact that Simon lied about most of what he said—well, I certainly appreciate it. He says it with conviction. Like it’s completely true.  _ I _ offered the help. I asked if he needed someone to babysit her. But he’s claiming that as his own. 

“You understand, Mr Snow,” the headmaster says, gaining back some momentum, “that if we let this slip, it becomes a precedent.”

“For  _ who _ , exactly?” Simon snaps. I’m surprised by how clear his argument is, and Merlin, it’s amazing. “How many people care about teachers’ private lives?  _ Who  _ cares? You were the one that said that  _ teachers _ reported it. Not parents!” 

It seems like there will be no winning with Simon, and I almost smile, but the headmaster snaps his gaze back at me, so I refrain. “It will look bad on the school if someone finds out—”

“Think about this for a moment,” Simon hisses. “If it were a heterosexual relationship, this would be a fucking Hallmark movie.”

I can’t help it. My jaw finally goes slack. He has a point, but it’s a point I didn’t think he would reach. 

“Clearly, I’m not getting through to you, Mr Snow—”

“There’s no getting through to me—”

The headmaster hangs up and gives me a look of disdain. “What a catch.”

The anger lingering in me flames up and my eyes narrow. “He’s calling you out, sir. He’s trying to defend me.”

“You crossed several lines!”

I stand, and the chair behind me skids back and topples over. “I get it! I  _ get _ it, but Simon has a point. Would I be in here, right now, if Simon was a woman? Or if I was a woman and he was a man? And nobody has to know about this! Not that anyone should! It’s my private life.”

“ _ Sit _ down, Dr Grimm,” the headmaster sneers, so I pick up the chair, sit, and shoot him a glare. I don’t care if he’s my authority anymore.  _ He _ crossed a line by insulting Simon. 

“I understand that I—”

“Hold your tongue if you want your job,” he barks. And once I settle, he continues. “You have broken  _ several _ policies, Basilton.  _ Several _ , but because I know that the students genuinely adore you, I will let you stay.” 

I raise a brow. “At what cost?” 

Dr Andrews huffs. “You need to untangle your personal life from your professional life. That means you need to stop showing Rosie favouritism, you have to stop taking her home from school. And as a reprimand, you are no longer in charge of the Afterschool Programme. I won’t report this, but I very well could.” 

I try to absorb what he’s said and I can’t quite get my head around it.  _ What? _ I can’t intertangle my—no.

Something that I’ve learned through these past few months is that my family is far more important to me, and if I can’t have a family with Rosie and Simon, then….

Then I won’t work here. I can’t. I will miss working with Normal children, but I can find other ways to work with them. I can run a camp during the summer or something of that nature, but. 

Rosie is my daughter. Simon is my boyfriend. If this job gets in the way, I don’t want it. 

I stand from the chair and cast a glare at him. “You will have my letter of resignation by the end of the day. I understand that in its basis, I broke policy. But even then, he was a family friend before I even became a teacher. This is  _ bullshit _ .” 

I walk out of the office, leaving him to grovel in the decision he’s made. As much as I understand the worry, Simon and I explained our position. We explained that he was my boyfriend, and yet—

“Basilton!”

Dr Andrews’s head is poked out of his office and from where I stand in the corridor, it looks like a grape. As much as I want to  _ yell _ at him, I simply cross my arms and walk a bit closer. 

“Don’t resign,” he tells me. “The kids need you.”

“My  _ family _ needs me, Dr Andrews, and denying Rosie and Simon’s relationship to me infringes on that.” 

Dr Andrews searches me for who knows what, and I’m about to walk away again, but he grabs me by the arm. I pull it back from him and sneer. He doesn’t let it bother him. 

“I will need Mr Snow to sign paperwork showing that this is fully consensual.” He’s practically pleading, and as much as I don’t want to give him the satisfaction….

“You have his email,” I say, giving him a once over. “I will finish the year, but my contract ends this next term and I won’t renew it.” 

There’s no further argument, and as soon as I walk into the classroom, Rebecca gives me a scathing look. As much as I want to flip the bird, cuss her out,  _ curse _ her, for making this an issue in the first place, I smile at her sweetly. “If you wanted to be in charge of the Afterschool Programme, you could’ve asked. I’ll take my class back, now.” 

  
  


+++

When Simon gets home, he finds me in the office, pounding away at the computer. I’m emailing Penelope’s mother, asking about any job opportunities at Watford because, at this point, I’m done.  _ Completely _ done. 

None of _this_ feels weird to me, and in an instance where if we were strangers before all of this happened, maybe it would be. But I’m so conditioned to parent-teacher intermingling. I grew up in the fucking World of Mages; parents  _ taught _ their children all the time. This wasn’t an issue there, and I guess that’s what my father ultimately warned me about. 

I just never imagined finding the love of my life via his daughter. What an absolute mess. 

Simon finds me, though. He walks behind the chair I’m sitting in and begins to massage my shoulders. 

I lean back and allow him to take the stress away. 

“What’s the damage?” he asks soothingly. 

“You need to sign some paperwork and I can’t work the afterschool programme anymore,” I sigh, putting one of my hands atop his. I rest my head on his stomach and close my eyes. I’m starting to get a headache. “Also, I’m not renewing my contract.” 

Simon gasps quietly, and I tilt my chin up so I can look at him. He’s frowning down at me. “What? I thought—”

“You and Rosie are more important to me. I’m seeing if there’s a position at Watford, and if not, I’ll find something to do until there is one. But during the summers, I’ll work with a Normal charity or something.” 

Simon’s free hand migrates from my shoulder to the top of my head. “Are you sure you want to—”

“I’ve never been more sure.” I squeeze his hand. “But… he’s right. What I did and how I went about it was wrong. It was worth it, though.” 

The smile Simon gives me is slight, and he decides to swivel my chair around so I can face him. “You need a break.” 

I chuckle because that is  _ not _ a lie. A break is exactly what I need right now. “What were you thinking?”

Simon takes my face between his hands and squeezes my cheeks together. We both laugh. 

I can’t thank him enough, either. This whole day was so entirely stressful, it hurts my head. But he helps. This moment, his softness. It’s what I need. 

“Well,” Simon says, taking his hands off of me and turning the swivel chair a few times—he’s in a good mood. “I’ve always wanted to visit the beach.” 

The beach? Daphne has a family cottage in Worthing. That would be easy. 

I stand, pulling Simon into my arms and he melts into me. 

_ This is where I need to be _ . 

“When do you want to go?” I ask him, running my fingers through his locks. 

I hope he never cuts them. 

His arms find their way to my waist and he pulls me in a little bit closer. I rest my arms around his neck. 

“What if… would you want to go, alone, for your birthday?”

The look on Simon’s face makes me smirk, and I ignore the self-consciousness blaring in the back of my head. “That sounds nice.”

“Let’s put it on the calendar, then,” Simon says, pinching my cheek. He leaves the office a moment later, allowing me to stew in my thoughts. 

I love Simon Snow, I love Rosie Salisbury, and I would never trade them for anything in the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. 
> 
> At least he's not fired. 
> 
> QotC: Would you have reported Baz if you were in the music teacher's position?
> 
> Personally, looking into it with no knowledge it does seem a bit fishy. However, these teachers have known Baz for a while and if I were in the MT's position I would've given him the benefit of the doubt when he said Rosie was a family friend because it makes sense. 
> 
> What about y'all?
> 
> Also, please understand that Baz isn't innocent. He should've said something a long time ago. His personal ties to Simon eluded his judgement, but he still should have owned up completely.
> 
> One more chapter and an epilogue! See you tomorrow!


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

**Simon**

“What are you and Dad gonna do?” Rosie asks as I knock on Penny’s door. “And why can’t I go with you? It’s his birthday!” 

“We had a celebration for him yesterday,” I tell her, handing her backpack off to her. She glares at the thing at first, but then rolls her eyes and takes it.

“I know, but I wanted to be with him.” She pulls the backpack onto her back and stares at the ground. “It’s his first birthday with me.” 

This weekend’s supposed to be special for us. For specifically Baz and I. We’ve had coffee dates, we’ve had moments where it’s only us in the room, but a weekend for ourselves? Merlin, that sounds glorious. 

Just a time to disconnect and find the happiness that resonates between us, not with any other sort of influences. (Though Rosies  _ does _ make us very happy.) 

It’ll also be my first Rosie-free weekend ever. I hate thinking about it  _ that _ way, but it’s true. Seven, almost eight years and I haven’t had any sort of downtime for myself. 

“If you’re so distraught about it, go give him a kiss goodbye,” I tell her, and she shoots over to the car like a bullet and tears open his car door. It surprises him—he nearly drops his phone, but when she climbs into his lap and gives him a kiss on the cheek, it makes up for the initial scare. 

“Are you ready to be alone for the weekend?” Penny asks, and it startles me because I didn’t even hear her open the door. But she stands there, Florence in her arms, and I can’t help but acknowledge the baby first. 

She’s starting right at me with big, brown eyes and a curious gaze, and I feed my index finger into her grasp. She squeezes it in her fist and a little smile slips onto my face. 

“We definitely need it,” I finally tell Penny, and she nods. 

“Don’t propose to him or anything, okay?” she tells me wearily, because ever since I told her about the pendant, she thinks I’m going to get down on one knee and pop the question. 

(I’m not in any way ready to get married, I haven’t even said that I loved him, yet. But… I think I will tonight—no. Not think. I  _ will _ .) 

“I’m giving it some time. Don’t worry.” 

Rosie’s stomping up the stairs breaks up the conversation, and as soon as she sees Florence, she stops stomping and approaches her carefully. 

“Hi, baby,” she whispers, watching Florence with a careful gaze. 

“We’ll see you tomorrow evening, Princess,” I say, crouching down to Rosie’s level. She turns to me and smiles, her eyes gleaming with joy. 

It’s good to see her like this. So happy. So full of life. She’s always been an optimist, but….

She’s happy. Genuinely, and filled to the top. 

I cup her little cheek and she giggles because my calloused hands must tickle her skin. But I pull her in and give her a kiss on her other cheek. 

“Help Aunt Penny, okay? And listen to her. She has to take care of Florence first, and if there’s anything you can do to make things easier for her, do. You’re the big cousin.”

Rosie nods, gives me a kiss goodbye, and runs into the house. 

After giving Penny a kiss on the cheek and Florence a kiss on the forehead, I hop back into the car and buckle in. Baz pulls out of the park, and we’re down the road and toward the coast. 

Our hands tie together as we sit in the car, cruising down the road. Baz has the car fixed to where it’s driving itself and has cast every spell he can to get us there as fast as we can. It’s pretty nifty and dead useful, especially when you’re trying to spend every moment together without being consumed by the mundane, trivial things.

“You know,” Baz says, sitting back in his seat, “I didn’t get a birthday kiss.” 

I send him a look of amusement and cross my arms. “I certainly kissed you this morning.”

Baz rolls his eyes like it hurts and mirrors my stance. “That, my love, was a morning kiss, not a birthday kiss.” 

“Are you kidding?” I laugh, and so does he, and he brings me in by cupping the back of my neck. I give him something chaste. I give him something safe, and when I pull away, I murmur, “Happy birthday.” 

Our drive is spent mostly bantering. Making fun of each other in an innocent, playful way. At some point, I end up kicking his shoulder because he was being ridiculous, but this sort of attitude allowed his  **_time flies_ ** to take full effect. It carries us to the cottage within about five minutes. 

And when we pull up to it, I’m amazed by how… lovely it is. Whitewashed brick, an amazing view of the sea. There’s a little gravel pathway that leads up to the front door, and though the garden is lacking right now, I’m sure it’ll be beautiful when it gets warm. 

“This is beautiful,” I whisper, and Baz gently knocks his hand against mine. I look at him. 

“Wait until you get out and really look. I’ve never been here personally, but Mother comes here when she needs a moment to herself and she’s shown me pictures. It’s lovely and I’m sure it’s even more beautiful now that we’re here ourselves.” Baz smiles at me and climbs out of the car without another word. 

I follow his lead, grabbing our bags before I head towards the front door. 

There are large bay windows on either side of it, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they were cushioned so you could sit on the sill and watch the sea from the comfort of the warm cottage. 

The inside is just as charming as the outside, but it is far smaller than I thought it would’ve been. There are no walls, just one room. It’s much like a studio flat, made to fit one or two people intimately.

Everything is white and beachy. Daphne must like sand dollars because they detail everything, even the baseboards. 

“Why are all beach houses always decorated like this?” Baz says, taking a look around. He pulls off the sunglasses he has perched atop his head and places them on the kitchen table.

“I don’t know, but at least you know when it’s clean or not,” I say, placing our bags by the wardrobe in front of the bed. There’s a mirror on the front of it. 

“It’s small,” Baz mutters, coming up behind me. His arms snake around my waist and he props his chin on my shoulder, looking directly into the mirror. 

“It’s perfect for us.” I turn to look at him and smile, and he bucks my chin.

“You’re right. Do you want to go look at the sea?” 

“Of course.” 

We spend a few moments settling in, leaving traces of us throughout the cottage—clothes hung in the wardrobe, excess shoes by the front door, Baz’s Netflix logged in to the telly—and pull on our coats before we actually go outside. It’s still February, after all, and it’s quite chilly. 

Baz guides me through the garden by the hand, and I get another look at it. I’m thinking it’s a rose garden, based on the dead-looking bushes. And there’s a little wrought-iron tea table sitting in front of a small, empty water fountain. We pass it and walk through a gate, which leads us to the edge of the cliff. 

“Merlin,” Baz says under his breath, and when I turn towards the sea, the air’s knocked out of me. Completely. 

The sea is vast and roams out for miles on end, and the sun is just beginning to dip in the sky. 

I’ve never seen a sky so blue, and the clouds are wisted up and sparse. I almost want to hatch my wings and  _ fly _ . I might, actually. Tomorrow. Before we go home. 

And the sand is almost whiter than snow. While we were driving, the beaches we passed weren’t nearly as clean. But it’s like our cottage, this beach, is in our own corner of the world.

This is perfect. 

Baz sits on the edge of the cliff like he has nothing to lose, but the ground is sturdy, and when I peer down, it’s not a massive drop off. We wouldn’t be able to climb up it, but we could certainly slide down. 

I sit next to him, and he takes my hand in his. 

“You know, I never thought my life would be like this,” Baz says, and he looks like he’s completely at peace. He’s so serene, entirely unstressed. This is what the weekend’s supposed to be about—completely unravelling. And I’m glad that he’s able to. 

I’m glad that I’m with him—both mentally and physically. I haven’t felt this calm in a long time. 

Pulling his hand from mine, Baz wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer. I rest my head on his shoulder, and he kisses the top of my head. 

“What were your plans?” I ask him, eyes on the shore. The waves rhythmically crash against the sand. 

We’ve talked about nothing. We’ve talked about everything. We’ve talked about the in-betweens and highs and lows. But we’ve never talked about what Baz expected from life. 

“Before you found me, I didn’t expect much,” he says now, and my eyes part ways with the sea and find something so much more beautiful. Him. He continues, “I didn’t have a lot. My family didn’t talk to me like they used to. I found myself making a difference with Normal children. That was the only thing that kept me going, really. Helping those children.”

He sighs, readjusting the way he’s sitting. He tucks one of his feet under his other thigh and kisses my cheek before going back to holding my hand. His thumb traces concentric circles on the webbing between my forefinger and thumb. “I’ve told you this, but. I didn’t have anything else. Nothing that made  _ me _ feel good, at least. Nothing that made me feel whole. I just… planned on hopping from school to school, country to country. I don’t know how long I’ll live, and I didn’t want to give myself away. You know….”

I do. And I didn’t think about it that way. I will die someday, and Baz is convinced that he’ll live forever. Does he ever think about that? Does he ever worry about having to leave his family behind? Me? Rosie? 

My other hand finds his and I pull it into my lap. He turns to me, not looking concerned, but curious instead. He doesn’t ask, though. Rather, he continues. “I just wanted to distance myself from anything mortal. I didn’t quite believe that love was made for me. For… vampires, unless you fraternise with your own. Vampires live forever.” 

Those words drive through me like a stake, and when my eyes squeeze shut, he pulls me into him. “Hey,” he says. And my eyes open. So much love fills him that it melts away any ounce of worry. “But then we found each other again, Simon Snow, and everything changed. Whether I live forever is none of your concern, so don’t let it worry you.” 

I tug away from him and look him up and down. How am I not supposed to be concerned? 

“Think about it this way,” Baz says, pulling his knees to his chest. “One lover oftentimes dies before the other, anyway. They heal. Not to mention, we don’t know if it’s any different for vampire mages. I might be mortal. And if I’m not, I can care for our family.” 

My gaze is wary, and just the thought of him having to live aeons past me, past this beautiful moment, makes my heart hurt for him. But… he’s right. And it’s something we don’t need to talk about now. Not when the wind sweeps his hair up like it does in the films, nor when his gaze is filled with words to a love song. 

This is a weekend to relax. A weekend to take each other in for every bit of ourselves. 

Neither of us spends another moment on the matter, and we stay here on the cliff until the sun starts to duck behind the horizon. Wordlessly, magickally. Our hearts are tied together and they beat as one. 

But Baz wants to walk along the shore as the sun sets, and I agree with him. He slides down the cliffside first, and when he reaches the bottom without an issue, he yells up at me, “Use the branch if you need to!”

It’s unneeded, though if I used it, I probably wouldn’t have landed on my arse. Baz laughs as I plop on the ground, and when I shoot him a glare, the laugh settles but the smirk doesn’t. 

“I told you—”

“Just because you’re a year older than me at the moment doesn’t mean you need to give me a lecture, now,” I tell him with a playful eye roll, and he hoists me up into his arms. 

We gallivant along the seaside, eyes on the horizon as the light blue turns into a fairy floss kaleidoscope sky. Yellows and oranges blend in like a watercolour painting, and for the best bit of the sunset, we’re sitting again in the sand, watching as the sea devours the sun. 

Baz and I sit together in the serendipity of the darkening sky and the stars blink down at us. 

  
  


**Baz**

I get my fill of him and the calmness that he radiates. Simon Snow is rarely calm, let alone serene. But he could move with the wind like he is. Blissfully quiet. Inviting. Loving. He’s like a blanket how he holds me in his arms, and he’s physically one as well as the day cools off into nearly a freeze. But I don’t want to move. I want to linger in this moment. Stay here forever with him. Here. 

But we have to move along. Though he’s keeping me warm, I don’t want him to get cold. So I take a mental snapshot and stow it away. I can revisit it when I want to and reminisce on the sheer bliss of what we’ve done today. And that’s nothing but absorbing each other. 

With Simon, we don’t always need to talk. I guess it’s like osmosis. We absorb each other at this point. We understand. 

Simon understands now, standing before I do. He holds his hand out for me to take, and once I do, he tugs me up and towards the cottage. 

I quite like the place, but it did have to grow on me. Every beachfront house is decorated like you visited a tourist trap shop and bought everything inside. The whites and seafoam greens are nice, I don’t mind that, but I would like to see what Rosie could do to the place. She’s got an eye for design. 

Maybe someday. I’ll mention it to Mother at some point.

Somehow, Simon knows the way to the cottage and when we’re a few hundred feet from it, I stop to admire it. I nearly pull Simon’s arm out of its socket because I didn’t give him a warning, and though he glares at me, I pull him back so he’s standing at my side. 

“What?” Simon asks, looking at me to the cottage and back.

There’s nothing particular, nothing special. But the cottage looks cosy from here, the warm, yellow lights contrasting the blue of the moon, the cool of the night. 

My life is beautiful—Simon brought the vibrancy to it, the life. 

I shake my head at his question and continue to walk. He follows behind me, and I can hear the questions mill around in his head. 

We step inside of the cottage and Simon sheds his outer layers until he’s in his undershirt and jeans, but he still has tens of questions polluting his gaze. So, when I pull my coat off, I hang it and take his hand. “I was just thinking about how in love I am with you.” 

His defences crumble and he emits a nervous chuckle of relief. “I was worried.”

“Don’t be. Not tonight.” I kiss his knuckles and carry on with getting comfortable. We’re in for the night. Vera came down before we did and stocked us with ingredients for dinner and a cake she made. 

I take off my shirt.

Simon takes off his jeans. 

Though a birthday could call for decorum, we don’t need it when we’re alone together. Plus, Simon being half-dressed downstairs allows me to have a better look at (and feel of, if he wanted me to) his arse. 

I catch a glimpse now, and a smirk crosses my face. 

“Basilton, are you looking at my arse?” Simon asks, and when my eyes raise, I see that he’s looking at me with a playful yet stern glare. 

“Maybe,” I lie, raking my fingers through my hair. “Anyway, I think it might be a good time to eat.” Vera left some seabass. (Bless her, I know it’s fresh.) I haven’t seen what sorts of sides she’s left, but I’m getting hungry and Simon’s back to eyeing the fridge. 

We end up eating seabass atop lemon and garlic rice with a side of broccoli. (Simon didn’t like the broccoli, but he tried. I’ll give him some points for keeping it down.) And after that, I blow out twenty-nine candles. 

Simon insisted we used twenty-nine of the thirty candles of the pack and it takes a bit of work to actually blow out the entire cake. 

Our night is spent together on the couch, watching a few films. (Cult classics:  _ Rocky Horror Picture Show _ and  _ 28 Days Later _ .) 

As the second movie’s credits roll, I notice Simon’s leaning against me is growing increasingly heavier. He’s not quite asleep when I glance over, so rather than carrying him to bed, I nudge him until he’s upright. “Go lay down, love. I need to use the loo, but I’ll join you in a minute.” 

I get up before Simon does and do my business, but when I walk towards the bed, he’s not there. 

“Baz.” 

His voice is as soft as the wind, and I turn to find him sitting in the bay window. One knee’s tucked under his chin and the other leg hangs off the sill. The moonlight catches in his hair and illuminates his face—he’s ethereal, otherworldly, and I blink to make sure he’s there rather than an illusion. But he is, and he holds his hand out to me. Like a green light at the end of the dock. He summons me, and I’m right there, reaching out for him. I take his hand. He kisses my knuckles. 

“We should lay down,” I rasp, my voice cracking a bit. His lips are trailing up my wrist, to my elbow, and once he needs to, he stands and kisses my shoulder, then he catches me where it’s most vulnerable. He kisses the scar on my neck—the bite. My breath stutters, but he kisses it so gently, with so much conviction, I know he’s doing it on purpose. 

  
  


**Simon**

I take him for all that he is. Man. Vampire. Mage. And I wouldn’t want him any other way. I hope he knows this as I kiss him there. I hope he knows this as I look him in the eyes. He looks startled, and his hand flies to his neck. Mine cup his jaw. He trembles under my touch. 

  
  


**Baz**

Simon’s touch feathers across my skin like butterfly wings. He searches me like he’s looking for my feelings, like he’s trying to understand what’s running through my head. But there’s not much, nothing but love and exaltation, and the vulnerability he’s brought upon kissing my bite. But I let him. And I’d let him again. 

“Basilton,” he breathes, and his eyes begin to well with tears. 

Concern overwhelms me. I lean in and cup his neck. “Hey. Is something the matter?” 

Simon laughs, and even that is light. He removes one of his hands from his face and wipes the tears out of his eyes with the heel of his hand. “No, nothing’s the matter—fuck. I’m sorry, I ruined the moment.” 

My hold on him loosens a bit and I raise a brow. “What moment?”

Simon’s free hand falls to mine. “I was going to say… I’m in love with you.”

My jaw goes slightly slack, and I can’t help but quietly gasp. I examine Simon’s features, making sure there’s no lie in what he says, but why would there be? He’s smiling now, and he looks oh so beautiful in the moonlight….

I bring him in, and he bends at my will. He’s like putty in my hands, and when I scoop him up by looping each arm around his thighs, he’s soft. 

I’m soft. And I know what I want from him. 

He looks diaphanous against the white bedsheets, bronze and tawny filling my senses. He kicks the covers down and I crawl onto the mattress. He takes my lap as an invitation, and upon rolling over to straddle me, he pulls off his shirt, revealing a wide expanse of a star freckled sky. My finger traces a pattern between each of his pecs. It almost looks like Orion. 

Rather than letting me trace his perfect imperfections with the tips of my fingers, to feel the curves of his hips under my palms, he takes my hand and presses a kiss to the pad of my finger. 

I stop and look at him. There’s so much there in his eyes. Love. Lust. Passion. He’s almost drunk with these emotions, and they’re overwhelming him so much, he’s vulnerable. 

“I love you,” he says again, and I know he means it. His voice trembles with the words and they’re almost so powerful, he could use them as a spell. 

My wrist twists in his grasp so I can take a hold of his hand, and I sit up so there’s barely any space in between us. 

“I love you, Simon Snow,” I say back, and he bumps his forehead against mine. 

“I love you so much,” he whispers, and with the tilt of his chin, we’re kissing again. 

Neither of us has ever been so emotionally vulnerable and in this moment, I would give him everything. My heart. My soul. My life. He can have it all. 

He presses me back against the bed and he hovers over me. His lips travel, baptising me in kisses. From my jawline, to where it meets my ear. To my collarbones and down my chest. He makes sure I know that he loves every bit of me. The flawed parts, the parts that are whole. But just before he can get to my happy trail, his head bobs up. He’s hungry, but not enough to devour me without a second thought. 

“Where do you want to stop?” he asks me. 

“Nowhere—don’t.” My breath hitches when he sits back up over me. I want every bit of him. “Make love to me.” 

  
  


**Simon**

Baz wants me, all of me. He doesn’t want my touch to cease, or for me to stop showing him my affections. 

He wants me to  _ make love _ to him. 

So I will. I’ll show him every bit I have. 

But I need to know. How are we doing this? How will I make him most comfortable? 

“How do you want this? Where do you want me?” 

Baz reaches up and tucks one of the curls behind my ears. He’s smiling, and I bask in the light of it. “Did you bring anything? Lube? Condoms?”

I blush at his question—I’ve had them in my side table since we almost had sex on new years. I brought them here just in case. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Baz says, and then he mutters something under his breath that I can’t quite pick up. Whatever it does causes two objects to hit my back; I can only assume it’s the lube and box of condoms. 

Baz sits up a little more and reaches behind me, and when he looks at whatever’s in his hands, his eyes widen. 

“What? I thought you knew I was packing.” 

Baz snorts, but says nothing else of the matter and opens the box. He pulls a condom out and tosses the box off the bed. 

We resituate ourselves a bit. While Baz assures me that he can guide me through this—in a way, it’s my first time—we’re both pantless and standing. 

I’ve never been completely naked in front of Baz before, and as nervous as I am, he’s getting an eyeful. He doesn’t look disappointed or disgusted. Just stupidly in love, and that’s how I feel about him. 

He meets me in the middle, his arms wrapping around my waist, and he pulls me in again. With his lips. Under his palms. This in itself is pleasurable.

In a matter of moments, we’re back on the bed and I’m hovering over him. He looks beautiful with how his hair splays across the pillow, and the moonlight lights up his eyes—that deepwater almost looks surface. 

I dive in for a kiss, and he happily accepts.

And then he takes me. I gasp into his mouth when his hand wraps around me, and I immediately lean into his grasp. 

“Baz,” I moan, lips migrating. I begin to make a mess at his neck, and my hands work down his body. When it brushes against his hip bone, he groans quietly. “Baz, can I?”

“Please,” he says, eyes closed. “Please have me.” 

So, I do. I take him in my hand and begin to do what he did to me, and the look on his face itself is orgasmic. His eyes screw shut, and his back arches. He has his own agenda, and he’s barely able to do it. But he eventually reaches out for the condom and lube. 

  
  


**Baz**

Although this is Simon’s first time, he knows what he’s doing, and Merlin, it’s hard to think straight. He’s got me in this trance, and my eyes are screwed shut, but once I open them….

It’s not much help. As soon as I do, I’m staring into galaxies. Like the time Simon pushed magic into me. 

_ What’s happening _ ? 

I push myself up and stare at the sky, and I think Simon’s doing the same, but I can’t quite see him. Only his outline. But then, he leans closer to me and I see his face. 

He looks beautiful in the starlight. 

“Do you know…?” Simon trails off, staring into the sky. His hand’s stilled, but for an understandable reason. 

He seems to snap himself out of it, and once he’s zoned back in, he works his wrist in a way that earns him a slew of moans and pleas.

“Simon,” I pant.

He kisses his name off of my lips. 

  
  


**Simon**

My forearms rest on either side of Baz, and he holds my face between his hands. He’s ready, and he’s beautiful. I’m in between his legs, but I don’t want to break him. I don’t want to scare him. This is our first time, this is where it counts. 

This is where I count. 

“Don’t be afraid,” Baz whispers to me. “I want you, I love you.”

I’m supposed to be the one giving the pep talk. Telling him these things. But it’s the other way around. 

I let him know anyway. “You’re worth it. I want all of you.” 

Baz smiles just a bit, and I lean in closer. He whispers, “I love you,” and when our lips meet, I push into him. 

Nice and slow, easy for him and pleasurable for the both of us. Baz’s moans are like music to my ears and with the way his back arches, it allows one of my hands to slip behind him and keep his body pressed to mine. 

“Are you okay?” I groan into his ear, and when he nods, I ask, “Can I keep going?”

“ _ Please _ ,” he pants. 

And so I do. 

With each thrust, the louder he gets, the louder I get, and Merlin, it feels so good. He feels so good wrapped around me. He feels so good with our bodies pressed together. And the fact that he’s right here in front of me, arms laced around my neck, whining about how much he loves me, I’m overwhelmed. 

I bury my face into his neck and as that feeling, that pressure begins to become too much, I take him in my hand again to help him come with me.

We fall apart together and a starburst erupts above both of our heads. It nearly scares me. Baz looks fascinated once he’s wound down. 

The next few moments, we don’t say anything. I roll off beside him and he holds my hand as we stare at the stars above us. 

The room around us has vanished—it’s like we’re  _ in _ outer space. But we can’t be. I’m breathing. 

Have I managed to push magic into Baz? Do I still have that ability?

I don’t question it. This is unique, and we are so compatible it’s hard to comprehend. 

“Hey,” Baz breathes, and he sounds drunk. “Hey, that sex was so good it was out of this world,” he says and I giggle. He’s certainly drunk on something. 

  
  


**Baz**

Whatever’s pulsing through me now is euphoric, and it makes me giggly. I feel so many things right now, but I especially feel sticky. We both need showers. 

We take them after the stars have blinked out and we’ve landed back on earth. I go first, and then Simon. And now we lay together, still naked, but no longer sex covered. 

No longer lusting. Just two hearts in love, tied together chamber by chamber. 

His head’s on my chest, and my fingers are entwined with his. He’s about to pass out, and I remain staring at the ceiling, thinking about all that’s happened in the past hour. He’s confessed his love for me, and we made love right after.

How could this get any better?

Simon stirs a bit in my arms. 

“Baz… I meant to say earlier….” He’s looking up at me with sleep-filled eyes, but he’s smiling. “Move in with us.”

My breath stutters. “Wait, what—”

Simon puts his forefinger over my lips and that smile turns into a grin. “Move in with me and Rosie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all. all that's left is the epilogue.
> 
> How do you feel now? They had a sex weekend *insert eye emoji*
> 
> QotC: What do you think their future will look like?
> 
> Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow for the epilogue :') 
> 
> I can't believe we're already there!!


	45. June 21, 2027

**Baz**

I’m in front of the house, pruning the rose bushes before any company can arrive. Rosie’s friends will be here for her birthday party in an hour, and I want to take the time to impress the parents. 

The house is looking a lot better these days, and though Simon’s chalking it up to the rose bushes, I think it’s the love put into it that makes it stand out. (That and the garden we’ve grown. It’s filled with tens of different types of vegetables and fruits.) It’s really put this place together, inside and out, and as I pace back and look at it now, it’s incredibly inviting.

Sad thing that Simon and I are looking to move. But he wants chickens, a bigger backyard, more rooms, and a place closer to Watford. I’m assuming a position as the Magickal History teacher this upcoming term. (Simon asked what it would be like for me to teach others about him—I told him to ask me in ten years.) And though we will be able to expand our family and garden in a new house, it will be sad to say goodbye to this one. 

Even in the thick of Simon’s bad memories, there have been so many good ones that negate the past. So much of _us_ taking and filling up space. 

But it’s what we need to do—we need to move. It’s time, and we need to make the best of these last few months. 

Like we are now. A birthday party early in the day for Rosie. A dinner for Simon’s celebration. We want to wind down in a fort once it’s just the three of us and Shadow, because Simon has an affinity for family fort time and Rosie tries to build one every day. 

Merlin, I’ve never loved anyone more than my two rascals. I couldn’t imagine ending the night any other way (as far as Rosie knows). 

“Hey, Baz?” Simon calls me now, and I smile at the sight of him. He’d gotten his hair cut recently. It looks much like it used to when we were younger. Close on the sides, but his curls are longer on the top. It’s a good look for him, though I will always love an abundance of curl. 

“The roses look good,” I tell him, walking a bit closer. “Do you want me to cut some? Maybe we could have a bouquet?” 

The closer I get to Simon, the more nervous he looks. He’s wringing his hands together, and he can’t hide his emotions with the way his brows shrug together. “I mean, yeah. That sounds good, but—”

“Are you okay? Something happen inside?” I peel my gloves off and tuck the handle of the pruning sheers into one of the gloves. 

Simon loosens up a bit. His brows relax, but the glint of worry remains in his eyes when he takes my wrist. He holds my hand to his lips and kisses the emerald-encrusted band on my ring finger. “I’m fine, nothing’s the matter… I just thought that maybe you might be hot, and that you should get a glass of water.”

He’s a terrible liar, but I decide to go with it because I know he can’t hold in whatever he’s keeping from me for another few moments. I pull off the hat I was wearing, place it by the door, and follow him into the kitchen. 

A present sits atop the table, and when I look at the tag, my name’s scrawled on it in Simon’s calligraphy. 

“What’s this?” I hold the bag up and turn to Simon—he’s not the only one standing there anymore. Rosie’s next to him, holding his hand. She looks excited. 

Rosie’s excited. Simon’s nervous. Something’s up. 

“Open it!” Rosie shouts, the excitement getting the best of her. She charges into my legs and wraps her arms around my waist. “Open it now so you can see!”

“All right, then! I will!” I chuckle, setting the bag back down on the table. I pull the tissue paper out from the bag and peer into it. 

Papers. 

I take them from the bottom of the bag and read the first line of the stack of papers: _Consent by the child's parent to adoption by their partner_. 

My jaw goes slack, and my eyes scan the papers, but I’m not taking the papers in as I flip through them. All I can think is, _this is the start of the adoption process_. 

“Rosie… and I. Uh, all we really wanted for our birthday was that you’d join us. I mean, we’re already getting married and all of that, but—uh.” Simon’s a stuttering mess, and it’s endearing. It’s almost going as well as when he proposed to me, but I listen, and I allow the tears to well in my eyes and roll down my cheeks because this is everything to me. 

“What Daddy means,” Rosie says, taking over, “is that he wants you to be my dad to the gov… government? I think—but I said I wanted you to adopt me and he said he wanted it too and that it would be the best birthday present ever.”

I look at her and cup her cheek. She smiles up at me, and I’m a mess, because what has my life become? 

We don’t need papers or court rulings to officially say that Rosie’s my daughter, or that Simon’s my husband. But they want to go the extra mile. They want to take the time to walk through the steps of me officially adopting her. 

It’s not needed, but it’s wanted, and that means so much. To me, to them. How could I say no?

I place the papers down and scoop Rosie up in my arms so I can attack her in kisses. She giggles, and between breaths, she says, “Family—sandwich!”

Simon pulls us into his arms, and when he asks me, “Will you adopt her?”

I say, “I wouldn’t want to do anything else.” 

I couldn’t love my life any more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have officially reached the end of the story!
> 
> I have two questions of the chapter this time!
> 
> QotC1: What was your favorite part of this story? What resonated with you, or was your favorite line? I really love hearing these because they mean the world to me. 
> 
> QotC2: Do you have any questions for me? it could be anything!!
> 
> Thank you for all of the comments and kudos! I've been neglecting comments but I'll be going through them and replying! I've seen them all and I love that you guys are so engaged!
> 
> I would also like to thank my beta readers Sconey, Fatima, CSCB, Dem, Helena, Jasmine, Maisy, Sawyer, Olivia, Mo, Nunzi, and AnIronSidh! Without you this would have been a HOT mess but you helped me so much through the process!!
> 
> Thank you so much again for all of the love and support! This has been a wild 46ish days!


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